


Indirect Deposit

by LetItRaines



Series: Indirect Deposit [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-11-16 04:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 40,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18087077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: It’s the oldest story in the world, isn’t it? Falling in love with your neighbor. Killian’s sure that he’s seen hundreds of books and television shows starting off that way, and he’s always thought them all to be entirely unrealistic. That is until he started getting to know Emma Swan, who just so happens to live across the hall from him, and he has absolutely fallen for her in a way that he hasn’t fallen for anyone in a long time.It’s the oldest story in the world...until it isn’t. Because it’s not just Emma he’s fallen in love with. It’s her unborn child too, and while everyone he knows thinks he’s crazy for falling in love with a pregnant woman, he knows that he’s not. Some things in life are worth taking the risk.Some people are worth loving. And some things about life may surprise you.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited about this one you guys! And I hope you are too! All of the credit in the world goes to HelloTragic/WellHelloTragic for this idea of hers that she has graciously passed on to me. Seriously, I cannot give her enough credit or thanks for letting me put words down for this while she works on some wonderful stories that you should all check out!
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one!
> 
> I can be found on Tumblr at [let-it-raines](https://let-it-raines.tumblr.com). Feel free to stop by and send me a message!

The door shakes behind him as he enters his apartment, the pounding sound it makes when it locks into its frame reverberating in his ears while he throws his backpack down on the floor, not caring for its contents or the fact that it’s not his usual spot to keep his things. On any other day, he’d carefully take off his shoes, straightening them next to the door, and purposefully unstrap his bag from his back and place it on the bench seat that he keeps in the entryway of his apartment.

 

But today is not any other day.

 

It started as any other day, his alarm going off at six, early enough for him to go for his run and get back home in order to take a shower and get ready for work, arriving on campus a little after eight for his office hours. Very rarely does a student ever come talk to him during Monday morning office hours, which is partially the reason he timed them that way. It gives him time to grade exams, not being a fan of scantrons and their automatic grading when he’s an English professor who gives exams that mostly deal with essays, without distractions as well as helping to fulfill the Boston university-required demands of him having ten hours spent in his office per week.

 

As luck would have it, though, he had five students waiting for him the moment he walked up to his door, each and every one of them nearly jumping from their seats on the floor and thrusting their newly graded essays in his face claiming how unfair his grading was. But it’s not. He knows that it’s not. If anything, he’s overly kind with his assignments. He’s thirty-three, not that far removed from university himself, and he remembers how much he despised professors who failed students simply because they could. So, usually, he’d take a look at these papers and consider their protests, normally deciding to help the kids, but he knew for a fact that these five never showed up to class, never came to any of his extra lectures, so he said no, not today.

 

They were not pleased with him, but he didn’t care. He’s lenient, but you have to show up to class or prove that you can do the work on your own if you decide not to come.

 

That only soured his mood a bit, something he figured he’d forget about, but then his classes were all difficult that day, no one paying attention to a single word he said, no one engaging in discussions, and all of the passion he usually held for teaching seemed to fade away. But it was just a bad day, nothing that a glass of rum at home wouldn’t fix, and then his ex showed up outside of his classroom.

 

What. The. Hell.

 

He and Milah broke up seven months ago after he walked in on her, in _their_  apartment, sleeping with another man. That’s a sight he’s never quite forgotten, as much as he’s tried, but it often plays in the back of his mind when he’s up late at night and can’t sleep. He told her to get out then, and that’s the same thing he told her earlier today when she decided to beg for his forgiveness, to ask to come back talking about how much she still loved him. How fucking dare she try to come back, to even think that he’d want to be with someone who broke his heart and betrayed his trust in such a way that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to recover from it all. He had loved her, still loves her really, and he’s never quite understood where he went wrong, where they went wrong. They had a good, solid relationship…and it simply disappeared because of something Milah called one stupid mistake. Maybe he should have listened to her, maybe he should have thought about trying again, maybe it really was simply one moment of weakness, but he doesn’t think he’s ready to try to build up that trust again. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

 

So her face and the memories of her cheating on him replayed on his entire drive home, the only reprieve (or not) being flashes of memories of all of the good times too, and as he walked into his apartment, the place he has completely redone to his own tastes since they broke up, all he can do is see her face and the laughter lines he used to love so much. So no part of him cares if he keeps the place as neat as usual. No one is here but him anyways.

 

He doesn’t want anyone here but himself.

 

Huffing, he walks into his kitchen, bypassing the pitcher of water in his fridge and grabbing a bottle of beer. He feels like downing an entire bottle of rum, and not the cheap stuff, but he’s not twenty-one anymore. Hangovers are a bitch, and he’s still got to edit his lectures for the rest of the week, not content with the premade ones his mentor sent him when he took over British Literature at the beginning of the fall semester last month.

 

He’d really like that rum.

 

The liquid is refreshing as he tilts the bottle to his lips, letting the alcohol run down his throat, doing little more than giving him the smallest sense of control. But after he downs the one bottle, he tosses it into the bin and pours himself the glass of water he’d just turned his nose up on, grabbing an apple and making his way to his living room, promptly settling himself down onto his couch and turning on his TV, not caring what’s on as long as there’s some kind of noise besides his breathing and the cars driving by outside.

 

“God,” he groans, running his hand through his hair and squeezing his eyes closed in an attempt to shut everything out. “What the hell kind of day is this?”

 

Almost as if the world is out to get him, he hears a knock on his door. The absolute last thing he wants to be doing is talk to someone else, but then they knock again and he stands from the couch, adjusting his pants and shirt before making his way to the door, looking through the peephole and seeing his neighbor from across the hall standing outside of his door with her teeth tugging on her bottom lip and her hands behind her back.

 

Undoing the locks, he swings open the door, catching it to make sure it doesn’t slam into the wall, not wanting the knob to make a dent.

 

“Hello, Swan,” he greets, forcing a smile onto his face. He may be right pissed at life today, his mind running the paces of the entire spectrum of emotion, but she doesn’t deserve any of his ire.

 

They don’t talk often, nothing more than hellos and the occasional friendly small talk. He knows that she’s a lawyer, that her father was a police captain who was murdered in the line of duty on a case that he wasn’t even supposed to be out in the field for. He only knows that because it was all over the news, every local channel covering the story for weeks on end, Emma’s sullen face in the background of every shot. She was always alone, no one standing by her, and in her he always saw himself when he was twelve, standing alone at his mother’s funeral while Liam gave the eulogy. The dead parents club is a club you don’t want to be in, and every time he meets a new member, he wishes that he hadn’t.

 

But that was five years ago, and he didn’t know her then. He doesn’t truly know her too much now. She just moved into his building a little over a year ago. He figured someone with her kind of money could live in a nicer apartment, not that their places aren’t nice, but they’re not exactly peak Boston real estate. He can only really still afford the place on his own because of the money his mum had put away for him and the extra jobs he picks up.

 

“Can I use your bathroom?”

 

That takes him aback, the way she blurted the words out not at all what he was expecting, but before he even gets the chance to answer, she’s pushing past him, running down the hallway and swinging open his bedroom door and disappearing from sight.

 

This day could not possibly get any weirder.

 

Sighing, he closes his front door and quickly makes his way back toward his bedroom, not knowing what to expect. She’s nowhere to be seen until he hears the sound of dry heaving from the bathroom.

 

So this day could get weirder.

 

He should honestly write a book of his own documenting all of the unbelievable things that happen in his life. Forget writing about academia when he has a best seller about his ex-girlfriend showing up back in his life and making him want to vomit only to have his neighbor actually vomit in his bathroom.

 

Top of the best seller list. No doubt.

 

It might need a bit of padding, some more plot, maybe something more unexpected happening, but it’s got potential.

 

“Love.” He knocks on the door, not really sure why he’s asking for permission to enter a room in his own home, but nothing quite makes sense today. “Swan, are you okay?”

 

She doesn’t respond, and he can still hear the noise emanating from the other side of the door. Not really sure what to do, he turns the knob, pulling the door open to find Emma collapsed on the floor, her arms resting on the lid of the toilet. For some reason his first thought is that he’s relieved that he cleaned the bathroom Saturday morning.

 

“Shit, Swan,” he groans, walking toward her and squatting down next to her, tucking her hair behind her ears so that it doesn’t fall into her face or the vomit that he’s attempting not to smell. “Are you okay?”

 

“Obviously not,” she snarks, her voice shaky and not at all as solid as it usually is, at least from his limited experience of talking to her about sales at the grocery store down the street. “I need – ” she dry heaves into the toilet again, the sound causing his stomach to roll, but he tries to calm himself down by focusing on Emma, holding her hair back and rubbing his hand in soothing circles up and down her back. It’s been awhile since he’s had to soothe someone through something like this, and usually it’s a buddy who’s had too much to drink, but the mechanisms are always the same.

 

When she’s finished, she leans back against his bathtub, her face covered in a sheen of sweat and all of her color has been completely drained from skin. She looks miserable, and he has no idea what’s going on. So he flushes the toilet and washes his hands, scrubbing up and down his forearms until he feels clean enough. He’s not sure if he’ll ever feel clean enough, so he can’t imagine how Emma must feel. He grabs a washcloth and wets it with cold water, squeezing it out before squatting down in front of Emma and handing it to her.

 

“Thank you,” she sighs, taking the cloth and dabbing at her face, letting the cloth fall to the floor before she takes her hair, the strands seemingly never-ending, and pulls it up into a sloppy bun, brushing all of the loose strands back and off of her forehead. “I feel like I owe you a million explanations and apologies before I, you know, disappear out of mortification.”

 

“What? What about this situation could possibly be mortifying?”

 

She huffs, the smallest of smiles tugging at one side of her lips before she wipes her face down again. He smiles a bit at his own humor. He’d normally find that pathetic, but he thinks he can get a free pass today. “Every bit of it.”

  
  
“Eh, I’ve seen worse. My ex-girlfriend showed up to my office today, and several of my students witnessed us getting into an argument. Talk about professional.”

 

He doesn’t know what convinced him to share that, why he thought that would be in any way equivalent to what’s currently happening right now, and the way Emma’s looking at him makes him realize that she thinks the same. There’s not exactly a guideline for how to handle this situation.

 

Maybe that will be what his book is about: How To Handle When Your Neighbor Vomits In Your Bathroom For Dummies.

 

“Okay, so bad example,” he sighs, reaching up and scratching behind his ear while his mind runs all over the place on what to say, what to do. “I’ll come up with something better if you tell me why you needed to come into my apartment to vomit.”

 

Emma scrunches up her face, all of her features distorting, and for a moment all he can think about is how adorable that motion is, how he’d kind of like for her to do it again.

 

“Well, I lost my key for one. And I’m also having just horrible morning sickness, which is a major lie considering it’s six o’clock in the evening. This sure as hell isn’t morning.”

 

Morning sickness.

 

Morning sickness…she’s pregnant. He didn’t even know she was seeing anyone, not that it’s any of his business. She’s his neighbor. That’s all. Sure, he’s always thought she was beautiful, her flowing blonde hair and green eyes calling to him as much as her smile or the way her ass looks in a skirt when he sees her on her way to work. So he has no reason for the way his stomach twists, the way he feels suddenly nauseous as well, the way it has nothing to do with the smell of vomit. He barely knows her.

 

“Congratulations,” he grits out, wishing he’d been able to express more genuine joy. It’s just a shock is all. And it’s not like there’s really another way to express joy over someone else having a child. He’s not about to tell her congratulations on having sex.

 

But it is a weird day, so he wouldn’t put himself past it.

 

“Thanks. I, um, I’m sorry for all of this. I just need to call the building manager and have him unlock my door, so as soon as my legs stop shaking, I’m going to go do that.”

  
  
“You can stay here as long as you need. I really don’t mind.”

 

“Look, you’re being nice, which I really appreciate. I was about to vomit all over the carpet outside before I dared come knock on your door. And as great as this little chat has been, I really don’t want to impose on you anymore.”

  
  
“Swan, I get that, but it could take awhile for Scarlet to get here. He works another job down at O’Leary’s during the evenings.”

 

“Of course he does.”

  
  
“So call him, and we’ll hope that he’s not working tonight, but if he is, you can stay here. You can stay in my guest room if you want. It’s got its own bathroom.”

 

She looks like she could vomit again before her shoulders relax and she reaches up to push her hair back again, catching all of the loose strands and slicking them down. “Thanks.”

  
  
Emma calls Scarlet, who turns out not to be working, so within an hour, he’s unlocking Emma’s door, griping and moaning about how she should give a friend her spare key instead of keeping it inside her apartment. He only knows this because Will basically screams when he speaks, his voice reaching all the way into Killian’s apartment. He can’t hear Emma’s response, though, but he imagines she pretty much tells Will to fuck off.

 

What a day.

 

* * *

 

“Mate, I’m not bloody doing it.”

  
  
“It’s been months,” Robin says, taking a sip of his water before twisting on his barstool while Roland continues to color in his book, his curly hair flopping over his eyes. “You need to get back out there.”

 

“No offense, but you’re likely the last person to give me relationship advice.”

 

“Yeah, Papa.”

 

Killian chuckles, reaching out his hand to give Roland a high five, the kid smacking his hand as hard as he can. That’s his best bud, always backing him up even to his dad. “See, even your son knows.”

 

“That’s because my son is a nosy seven-year-old who agrees with everything his uncle says but not everything his own father says.”

 

Roland shrugs. “I like Uncle Killian.”

 

“What? And you don’t like me?”

 

“You make me eat green beans. Killian gave me a cookie last week.”

 

Robin sighs, shaking his head back and forth while he smiles. “If you ever have kids, I absolutely cannot wait to load them up with sugar and leave you to deal with the consequences.”

 

“Considering I don’t plan on dating for a very long time, I imagine that we won’t have this problem.”

 

“So you really won’t go out with Rebecca?”

 

He shakes his head before running his hand through his hair, wishing that the thought of dating didn’t make his stomach twist. “I just can’t, mate. I’m still…I can’t. And, honestly, I’m fine with how things are. I don’t need to be with someone.”

 

“If you say so. But Roland is going to get older, and suddenly single Uncle Killian isn’t going to seem quite as cool.”

  
  
“Please,” he huffs, rolling his eyes, “I’m always going to be cool.”

 

He leaves Robin’s house a little after seven, letting him put Roland to bed in peace. Most of his Saturdays are spent at their house after they go to Roland’s football games, even if he cringes a bit at all of the kids calling it soccer. He might have been in America for over a decade, but there are some things he still hasn’t switched over in his vocabulary. Others slip off of his tongue like he’s been speaking that way for his entire life, but the football and soccer distinction is something that’ll likely always stay.

 

He’s tempted to pull over into several bars on his way home, knowing that he’s not got anything else to do tomorrow since he finished most of his work for the next week Friday afternoon (maybe he really does need a bit more of a social life), but he’d honestly rather go home and change into his joggers and catch up on some television. To some it might make him boring, but he likes doing things that make him happy.

 

After he parks in the garage a block over from his building, he makes his short walk home, ignoring all of the people passing by who are going out to dinner or going out with friends. He’s spent all day with his best mate and his son, and honestly, that’s how he likes things. He likes being comfortable.

 

If he had the money, he’d buy a boat and spend his days out on the water reading, letting the waves move below him while he gets lost in the words that others have written.

 

That would be the perfect Saturday.

 

When he enters his building, he makes a stop by the mailboxes, figuring he should go ahead and check while he’s down here, but then he sees long blonde hair and the red jacket that she’s always wearing. It’s only been a week since he last saw Emma, since she came into his apartment, and he’s almost sure that she’s been going out of her way to avoid him. He understands. It’s not exactly a situation that you want to have to talk about all of the time. If he were Emma, he’d probably want to just forget about it.

 

Though it’s not something one easily forgets.

 

He’s just about to turn around and walk away from the boxes, respecting her space, when she turns, several envelopes in her hand that she’s shuffling. He thinks that he has time to move out of the way, to stay unseen, but then she’s looking up and looking directly at him, her eyes going wide like she’s been shocked.

 

So, yeah, she was definitely avoiding him.

 

“Hello, love,” he waves, giving her a kind smile while he makes an attempt not to cringe. “How are you today?”

 

Her eyes slant, almost like she’s studying him, but then they widen again to reveal the green. “Are you asking because you care or are you asking because you’re scared I’m about to vomit all over your shoes?”

 

He chuckles under his breath, reaching up to scratch behind his ear while he clicks his tongue, not really sure what to say. He does rather like these shoes. “Can I say both?”

 

“You can, but I’m not sure that I’ll believe you.”

 

“Fair,” he sighs, sticking his hands in his pockets so that he can stop his fingers from fidgeting. “You get anything interesting?”

 

Bloody hell. Why is he even bothering to speak? Everything that comes out of his mouth seems like something a teenager who’s never spoken to a woman would say. Or worse, he sounds a bit like someone who’s just never spoken at all. And the way Emma’s eyebrows raise doesn’t exactly help him feel any less awkward than he does right now.

 

He’s asking her if she got anything in the mail for fuck’s sake.

 

“I don’t think you could handle all of the interesting things I get in the mail.”

 

“I can handle more than you think, darling,” he promises, tilting his head so that he can look Emma directly in the eye while he runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

 

There he goes. That’s more like him.

  
  
“Right,” she says incredulously, looking up at him before back down at her mail. “So I’m just going to go. Have a good night.”

 

She begins to walk away, and he’s not sure what comes over him next. But, honestly, once the words start, he can’t make them stop. “What are you doing tonight?”

 

Emma stops in her tracks, her sneakers actually squeaking against the tile as she turns around. “I’m just going to watch some TV, catch up on some shows. Why?”

 

“Would you like to come over for a drink?”

 

She smiles at him then, something soft and subtle, but it’s a smile. “Pregnant, remember?”

 

Well fuck. How did he forget that? She’s pregnant. Of course he knew that. Of course he knew that she’s pregnant. And she has a boyfriend, so she probably has no interest in hanging out with someone she barely knows, not that her having a boyfriend means she can’t have other friends. That would be ridiculous. It’s just…he guesses Robin’s words about not being alone and watching all of those people go out with their friends outside, they must have impacted him in some way. He likes being alone, prefers it sometimes, but he wouldn’t absolutely hate to have someone watch TV with him.

 

Probably just not Emma Swan.

 

“Sorry, love,” he apologizes, having to work to keep his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t scratch his ear again. “I didn’t mean to impose. I’m not sure why I asked.”

 

He thinks she’s just going to walk away again, but she doesn’t. “Well, there are other drinks besides alcohol, you know? I happen to be a big fan of hot chocolate.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” she nods, taking a step closer to him and uncrossing her arms from her chest. “And I was thinking about watching Big Little Lies. So if you have hot chocolate and like Reese Witherspoon, I feel like I might agree to having a drink with you.”

  
  
“Aye, I have hot chocolate, and how can one not love Reese Witherspoon? She’s America’s sweetheart.”

 

“Aren’t you British?”

 

He winks. “That’s beside the point.”

 

* * *

 

Emma knocks on his door a little after eight, and he lets her inside. The similar layouts of their apartments must make her feel at home as she simply walks into his living room and sits down, spreading out the blanket she brought with her over her legs. He’s never known someone to bring their own blanket with them, but it’s actually a good idea. Oftentimes he goes over to someone’s house and is either freezing or is stuck using a blanket with uncomfortable material.

 

When the hell did he become such an old man?

 

He joins her with the hot chocolate he was making before she came. He only had the instant packets, not the ingredients to make the good stuff, but he’s never had the need to use anything but the instant anyways. Honestly, he usually adds rum or whiskey to it, but he didn’t tonight. Solidarity and all.

 

Besides, he’s genuinely confused as to what the hell is happening, so being sober is probably a bright idea. Emma’s been in his apartment twice. Once to throw up, another to spend a Saturday night watching television. He feels like there should be some kind of in between or, really, a better beginning. But it is what it is, so he’s simply going to go with it.

 

Whatever it is, he doesn’t know.

 

“Thank you,” she says, smiling up at him before placing her mug on his side table and leaning forward so that she yanks his coffee table closer to her, propping her feet up on the wood. “I promise I’ll move it back before I leave. I just have to have something to prop my feet up on.”

 

“I’m the same way.”

 

“Yeah? It seemed a little far away for you to be able to do that.”

 

He waggles his eyebrows, leaning a bit closer to her. “I’m a tad bit taller than you, Swan, so my legs are longer. It’s part of my devilishly handsome appeal.”

 

“Well, you have to have something to support that large ego of yours.”

  
  
“Touché. So tell me about this show we’re watching.”

 

“Wait,” she begins, taking a sip out of her mug, “you haven’t even heard of it?”

 

“Well, I have, but all I know is that it’s about a bunch of rich women and there’s something about Audrey Hepburn.”

 

“And murder.”

  
  
“Spoilers, Swan,” he teases, feeling lighter than he has in awhile. It’s nice to have a friend (maybe) who doesn’t expect anything from him but to watch TV. There’s no prodding into his life, no encouraging him to go on dates. It’s all purely conversation for the sake of lounging around the apartment and watching television. “Alright then, let’s watch this show where Reese Witherspoon is a murderer. I simply don’t believe that to be true after all that time she spent becoming a lawyer.”

 

“I applaud your pop culture references, Jones. That’s a good quality in a man.”

 

“Well, you could also technically be legally blonde, so it works.”

  
  
Emma groans, throwing her head back against the couch before twisting her neck to look at him with a soft smile. “That is so not the first time I’ve heard that joke. You’ve got to be more original if you’re going to make a joke about my job and my hair color.”

  
  
He raises a brow, the corners of his lips ticking up until he feels as if his entire face is smiling. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that you’re pretty much the definition of blonde ambition.”

  
  
“Play the damn show, Killian.”

 

He’s surprisingly intrigued by the show, but mostly he’s surprised how open Emma is as she talks while they’re watching each episode. He doesn’t think she realizes all of the little things she’s revealing with her statements and with the moments that she laughs at, but he wouldn’t either. Hell, he’s probably doing the same thing. Mostly, though, as the hours pass and the episodes continue, he’s as wrapped up in the show as he is with Emma. It’s an entirely inappropriate feeling, this liking her, and he’s got to stuff it down. He will not be someone who cheats, he will not be someone who has feelings for someone who is in a relationship, but he will be friends with someone…just friends. That’s what’s appropriate, and that’s what he’ll do.

 

Besides, this is one night. It doesn’t mean anything. She’s likely just bored and saw an opportunity not to spend her night alone, which is funny to him because she’s always struck him as someone who likes to be alone. Then again, how much can he really know about someone from only short, superficial interactions?

 

Not much, but maybe Emma Swan isn’t as stand offish as he once believed.

 

Maybe Reese Witherspoon really does bring people together.

 

When it’s two in the morning, Emma lets out a big yawn, covering her mouth to hide it, and when she’s in the middle of saying something, another yawn catches her. She’s exhausted. Has he kept her up all this time? Don’t pregnant women need more sleep than normal people? They do. He’s almost entirely sure that they do.

 

“We can stop watching, love. You look like you need to go to bed.”

 

“No, no,” she protests, another yawn passing through her lips, “we have to keep going. We’re almost finished. I want to know what happens.”

 

“Swan, you’re practically falling asleep sitting up.”

 

“Jones, suck it up. We’re finishing the show tonight. It’s what Elle Woods would do.”

 

So he sucks it up and powers on, finishing watching the show and wondering about how the hell they could end it like that. It’s not a cliffhanger, but he needs more. As the credits roll, though, he doesn’t get up to turn the television off and go to bed. No, he stays exactly where he is because Emma Swan, his elusive neighbor, is fast asleep with her head on his lap, her blanket pulled up over her shoulders while she lets out small puffs of air onto his knee.

 

He can’t wake her. He just can’t, not when she obviously needed the sleep, so even though he’s deeply uncomfortable, he stays how he is and lets her sleep.

 

Eventually, he falls asleep too.

 

And when he wakes up, while he’s not surprised that she’s not longer there, he is disappointed.

 

* * *

 

After he woke up alone, he tried not to dwell on it too much, tried not to dwell on the fact that he felt like he’d had a really good first date only to have his date not having enjoyed herself. He knows how to woo and charm a woman, but he’s not for everyone. If he was, well, then he’d be crazy. Or he’d just go on the Bachelor. The men on that show seem to attract several women all at once.

 

Not that he’d do that or even want that. For all of his bravado and flirting, for all of the times that he’s come home with a woman without knowing more than her name, and sometimes not even that, he actually prefers relationships. He prefers the steadiness of them, the friendship, the way that he gets to truly know the likes and dislikes of his partner. So the Bachelor probably isn’t for him, but if he’s desperately bored enough, he might watch it.

 

Maybe it’ll make his pop culture knowledge soar. Emma seemed to like whenever he referenced anything, always giggling a bit before telling him something just as clever. No, she was normally more clever. And he really liked the way that she’d look like she was so proud of herself after every joke that she told. That was so endearing.

 

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, resisting the urge to kick his foot against his bedframe from where he’s been folding his laundry. He is in deep after one night to an unavailable woman, and no part of that is okay with him.

 

Wasn’t he just convincing himself that they were friends? Or really good acquaintances? It was one night.

 

There’s a knock at his front door, more of a pounding really, and his heartrate increases while his cheeks flush. The only person to knock on his door in the past week has been Emma, and he’s irrationally getting his hopes up that it’s going to be her again. He shouldn’t even want to see her, not after she left this morning, not after he knows that he has feelings for her when she’s with someone else.

 

It’s a crush. It’s like when he was younger. It’s simply a crush, and it’ll go away.

 

After he finishes folding the t-shirt and places it in its correct pile, he walks out of his room and down the hall to his front door, unlocking the latches and swinging it open to reveal Emma standing there still in her clothes from yesterday holding two grocery bags. What in the world is she doing here?

 

“So, I woke up this morning and was thinking.”

 

“Please enlighten me as to what the brilliant Emma Swan was thinking.”

 

She rolls her eyes but steps inside his apartment, pushing through him and the way he had his arm propped up against the door until she’s completely inside and standing by the kitchen counters.

 

“Just let yourself in, Swan.”

 

“I just did,” she laughs, unpacking her bags while he closes his door and moves to stand opposite of her. “So anyways, I was thinking that we definitely need to finish the show.” He opens his mouth to say that he finished it, and she holds her finger in the air and places it on his lips. “Don’t say that you finished it without me. And I thought if we’re going to do that, I absolutely have to get you the good kind of hot chocolate. And snacks. We need snacks, so I woke up, went home and brushed my teeth and stuff, and then ran to the store.”

 

She’s been unpacking her bags, chocolate, whipped cream, milk, cinnamon, popcorn, and pop tarts all coming out, and for a moment he’s not sure if he’s speaking with a grown woman or with a child.

 

“Love, what the hell is all this stuff?”

 

“It’s the provisions, Jones. I’m going to make the hot chocolate the way my dad taught me to make it, which is pretty much the only way to make it, and then we’re going to stuff ourselves with my favorite food.”

 

“Pop Tarts?”

 

“Well, no. I like grilled cheese and onion rings, but the grease isn’t sitting well with me right now. And I know I’m supposed to eat healthy and all that, and I do, but I really want the damn Pop Tarts.”

 

He picks up the box, inspecting it while Emma goes through his cabinets. They look disgusting, but if it’s what she wants, he guesses that’s what they’ll have. “Then Pop Tarts you shall have, milady.”

 

“I know. I bought the things. Where do you keep your pans?”

 

* * *

 

September fades away into October in the blink of an eye, the leaves morphing into warm oranges and reds all the while the air in Boston dips and chill winds begin to blow through. It’s his favorite time of the year without question, though he does enjoy summer months and any opportunity he gets to go out and spend time by the harbor, possibly even on a boat, and even though he’s spent more hours locked away in his office grading midterms than he’d like, he’s happier than he has been in a long time.

 

Much happier than some of his students are going to be when they get back from fall break.

 

He tries to attribute it to the fact that he’s moving on from all of his heartbreak in the past, that he’s not waking up in the middle of the night and seeing flashes of Milah and the life they used to share, and he’s finding a new rhythm that he likes. That he loves really.

 

In the mornings, he wakes and goes for runs down by the river. Some days he listens to music, other days he lets his thoughts keep him company. Afterward, depending on when his lectures are, he either runs errands or heads to work, both of which give him the same amount of joy. Usually he’s much more fond of his students, but this semester he only truly likes the English comp class that he took up teaching for extra pay.

 

And he despises teaching English Composition.

 

But his class is full of bright-eyed freshman who for some reason actually show up to class and ask questions, a lot of them begging to write about something more interesting than your run of the mill essay topics when all he’s trying to teach them is proper grammar and punctuation.

 

As someone who doesn’t always use proper grammar and punctuation, it’s a bit of a difficult task.

 

After his lectures he usually goes to his office, talking to some of his coworkers and preparing lectures and grading assignments. It’s his normal day, really, but there’s a pep in his step that he hasn’t felt in a long time. And it definitely comes from the fact that every day a little after seven, he eats dinner with Emma.

 

Yeah, so that’s a new part of his routine. It used to be that he’d eat alone, going over to Rob’s once or twice a week to join them, but ever since he and Emma started their binge watching sessions and he saw how dreadfully she ate at home, they’ve been eating dinner together.

 

He’d gotten a little carried away from himself and googled examples of diets for pregnant women, knowing that it was none of his business and that Emma was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and her baby, but he also knew from their time together that she didn’t cook. At all. And she said the things she did occasionally cook were making her feel sick. So one night while making some stir fry for himself, he realized how easy it would be to add a little extra food and have enough for two people.

 

And maybe after the first few times he offered Emma food, claiming he had extra, he made a little more so she’d have leftovers to take to work for lunch.

 

So, yeah, he’s got a little pep in his step every day.   
  


He’s making salmon for them tonight, and he needs to get home and get it prepared. He also needs to get some coffee before he gets home. Emma’s trying not to drink any caffeine, claiming she used to drink too much of it to begin with, so he’s been staying away from it when she’s around. He can’t stay away from it completely, so he definitely just drinks it and chucks all of the evidence before she can see it…or smell it. She usually smells it on his breath.

 

They’ve formed a strange friendship over the past six weeks.

 

And he knows that it’s a friendship, he does, even if he has feelings that are far from appropriate for her. For awhile, he felt infinitely guilty, like he was doing something wrong, but he and Emma aren’t dating. He’s not doing anything wrong. There’s no cheating involved, and he would never make a move on a woman who’s in a relationship.

 

It’s just not good form. Not for him. He’s sure there can sometimes be extenuating circumstances that can make it be reasonable, but he just…he can’t. Not after the way his heart was ripped out by having his relationship broken apart.

 

But from what he’s figured out, Emma’s not seeing anyone. If she is, she’d have to only see him during the day since she seems to spend every night with him, and that would be one of the strangest relationships he’s ever seen. He’s decided, though, that Emma must have been dating someone and when she told him she was pregnant, he bolted. The bloody asshole. He’s not even sure who the wanker is or what exactly happened, but when he thinks about it too much, all he wants to do is tear the man apart. She doesn’t talk about it, though, doesn’t allude to having gone through a breakup, and if she doesn’t want to talk about it, he won’t ask.

 

They work how they are, and he doesn’t plan on changing anything.

 

He hears the knob on his door jingle, the lock twisting, from his spot in the kitchen pouring the sauce over the salmon. He’d given Emma a key last week, and just two days ago, she’d come to his door with a reluctantly happy look on her face while she held up a key.

 

_“I need you to keep my spare key for me.”_

_“What?”_

 

_“I need someone to keep my spare key for me, and I don’t have anyone who lives near here who can do it.”_

 

_“So you want me to do it?”_

_“Are you going to steal any of my stuff?”_

_“No, but I don’t think anyone would answer yes to that question.”_

_“This is a good point. So no stealing, but I wouldn’t hate it if you left me food.”_

_“I believe leaving things in someone’s apartment is the opposite of stealing.”_

_“Shut up, Jones.”_

Emma comes into view a moment later, the door opening and quickly closing. She’s already changed out of her work attire and into the sweatpants and sweater she’s been fond of lately, but she hasn’t removed her makeup or pulled up her hair so it’s like she’s a mixture of professional and casual.

 

He’s rather fond of when she wears her hair down. It’s long and flowing, always a slight wave to it, and it’s soft to the touch. Plus, it smells bloody amazing. He doesn’t know what kind of shampoo she uses, but he hopes that she uses it for a long time to come.

 

(He may have to vacuum his apartment and shake out all of his throw pillows from all of the blonde hair everywhere.)

 

“Hey,” she greets, a timid smile on her face. She’s holding a brown paper bag, and he’s really not sure what’s in there, especially since she’s holding it rather closely and stays on the other side of his island with it.

 

He continues to pour the sauce over the salmon before turning around and sliding it into the oven. When he turns around, it’s to Emma still standing there with her bottom lip tugging between her teeth. “What’s up, love? Why do you look nervous?”

 

“I’m not nervous.”

 

“Your nerves are practically radiating over your entire body.” He takes a step closer to her, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s wrong, Swan?”  
  


“Nothing.”

  
  
“Swan.”

 

“Okay, okay,” she concedes, raising her hands in the air, “so I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, but some of my coworkers brought me a cake today.”

  
  
“Why is that a big deal? It seems sweet.”

 

“Because today is my thirtieth birthday.”

 

“Happy – ”

 

“No, no, no. Okay, so I haven’t really celebrated my birthday in a long time, and I don’t usually like it. But I figured we could eat this after dinner. It’s, like, a birthday cheesecake or something. And before you say anything, yes, I checked to make sure I could eat it. There’s no funky cheeses in or anything. I just thought it’d be nice.”

 

He smiles to himself, shaking his head a little bit before stepping toward her and brushing a brief kiss against her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin underneath his lips. “Happy birthday, darling. I’d love to eat your cheesecake.”

  
  
“How did you manage to make that sound dirty?”

 

He pulls back and winks before moving his brows across his forehead in the way that he knows makes her laugh. Sure enough, she giggles, shaking her head back and forth as she takes the cheesecake and moves it into his fridge.

 

“So what are we eating?”

  
  
“Salmon and a salad.”

 

“Really?”

  
  
“Yep, gotta cancel out all of the cheesecake we’re obviously going to be eating over the next few days. It’s good, though, love. I promise. My brother makes it all the time when I visit him.”

 

“So you’re telling me that you fly to London just for your brother to make you salmon you can make yourself?”  
  


 

“I mean, I do enjoy seeing my brother too.”

 

“That seems like it’s not reasonable at all. You guys should be eating, like, tea and crumpets or something.”

  
  
He raises a brow. “Darling, is your entire knowledge of London based on television shows set centuries ago?”

 

“Maybe,” she begins, scrunching up her face in the way that he’s really come to like, that he’s always liked. “I’ve literally only ever lived in Boston. I grew up here, went to college here, work here. The furthest I’ve been away from here is Seattle, and I only went for a two-day work conference. I was in conference rooms the entire time.”

 

“We’ll just have to remedy that someday. I can suggest a lot of places if you and your little one ever want to holiday somewhere.”

  
  
“Oh,” she gasps, her entire face lighting up. Ever since her morning sickness has waned, he swears that she’s been glowing in all of the stereotypical ways that sometimes pregnant women glow. It could just be her makeup, but he thinks she glows a bit. Maybe it’s just him. Maybe he’s simply become delusional. Her breasts are rounding out, though. He has noticed that no matter how much he tries to keep his eyes trained on hers. “I have a bump finally. Like, one that other people besides me and my jeans notice.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah, hold on.” She gets up from her stool and comes to stand in front of him, pressing her sweater against her stomach to reveal the smallest of round curves. He knows that she’s pregnant, has known for awhile, and even with all of the other signs and symptoms, it’s lovely to get to see this. It’s even lovelier that she feels comfortable sharing it with him. “See? I have a bump. I never thought I’d be one of those women who gets excited about stuff like this, but I’m excited, you know?”

 

“Not from experience, but yeah, I know.”

 

“Hush,” she laughs, letting her sweater go loose. “Maybe if you were less healthy and sat on your ass all of the time, you could have a little bump too.”

  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

The salmon is fantastic if he does say so himself, and even though he knew that he would enjoy it, he’s glad that Emma does, especially since it’s apparently her birthday. He’s never been one to celebrate much, but he at least celebrates a little. She seemed mostly averse to the idea, but he’s hoping that she’s having a good night.

 

He really does.

 

She deserves to have good days.

 

God, he’s a goner. It’s ridiculous.

 

They spend the evening eating and continuing to work their way through the American version of The Office. He’d never seen it, so Emma insisted. Like, really insisted. She’s seen it before, but she sits there and laughs the entire time like it’s the first time she’s watching it. It took some adjusting to get used to Michael, but now that he has, he really enjoys the show.

 

And the cheesecake is damn good.

 

“I mean, obviously Jim isn’t going to stay with Karen,” he tells Emma when they’re each two pieces of cheesecake in and it’s one in the morning.

 

“You don’t know that.”

  
  
“It’s a TV show, and he’s been in love with Pam for years. They’re going to give them the happy ending. What’s the point of television if not to give people something to root for? To give them a happy ending because life doesn’t always work that way?”

 

Emma sighs next to him before she scoots closer to him, their thighs touching, and rests her head on his shoulder. He feels the shiver the runs down his spine, the gooseflesh that’s rising on his skin under his shirt, and it’s the most pleasant feeling he’s had in a long time.

 

“I like happy endings. I used to…my life has been hard,” she admits quietly, the words almost lost in the material of his shirt, “and I thought maybe that I could never have anything happy, never have anything good in my life without having it taken away from me, but then I got pregnant, you know. And while I don’t believe anyone should have a child in some desperate attempt to be happy, I know that this kid makes me happy. It’s something that’s mine, and even though it’s hard, I love having a family again. I love getting to love someone else again.”

 

He doesn’t know what to say to that, how to respond to her quiet admission of all of the heartbreak she’s been through, so he wraps his arm around her shoulder and tugs her closer, pressing a quick kiss against her temple. “You’ll get your happy ending, Swan.”

 

* * *

 

_Emma: I can’t make dinner tonight._

_Killian: Why not?_

 

_Emma: I have a doctor’s appointment in an hour, and since it’s making me miss work, I have to stay late._

_Killian: Are you okay?_

 

_Emma: It’s just my 16-week check up. Nothing to concern yourself with._

_Emma: Don’t eat anything good without me._

_Killian: I won’t._

 

“Killian?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Why’d you just go all starry-eyed and then look disappointed?”

 

“I did not,” he scoffs, stuffing his phone in his desk drawer and looking back to his computer where Liam’s got a smug look on his face. Haughty. He looks haughty. “I was just replying to some texts.”

 

“With your girlfriend?”

 

“Bloody hell. You know I don’t have a girlfriend, you wanker.”

 

“What about that woman who you spend your nights with? She seems like a girlfriend.”

 

“So how’s work?” he asks, rolling his eyes and changing the subject. “You get to captain any new ships lately?”

  
  
“You know as well as I do that I sit in an office all day filling out paperwork and when they’re feeling the need to put on a show, I have to get all dressed up and wander out to inspect the ships.” He watches Liam slide on his glasses before licking his thumb to turn the page of whatever it is he’s reading. When did his brother become such a middle-aged man? Even more so than Killian and his blanket preferences. “I also know that you’re changing the subject.”

 

“How’s Loren?”

 

“Bloody brilliant as always. She’s at her mum’s tonight, but I’m sure she sends her love. So you seriously don’t want to talk about this woman? Emma, right? I think you let it slip once that that’s her name.”

 

He sighs, running his hand through his hair before tapping his finger against the stubble on his chin. “Aye, Emma. Her name is Emma.”

 

“And you say you’re not dating?”

 

“Correct.”

  
  
“And yet you’ve had dinner with her every night for what? Two months now? Loren and I are married, and we don’t even eat dinner together that often.”

 

“We like to eat,” Killian laughs, reclining himself in his office chair since he knows that there’s no getting out of this one. “And it’s nice to have company that’s not Robin or Roland, as great as they are.”

 

“So what’s the problem then? You obviously like her, and don’t protest. Your cheeks are blushing, and every time you talk about her you scratch behind that damned ear. I’m assuming she likes you or else she wouldn’t spend all of this time together. Are you really just so stubborn so that you won’t date again?”

 

“I’m sorry I had my bloody heart ripped out of my chest, Li. That’s not something I can just get over like it didn’t happen. I was convinced I’d found the woman who I was going to spend the rest of my life with, and she didn’t feel the same way. I still don’t understand it. It hurt, it still hurts, and if I have scars from that, I can’t even begin to imagine the scars Emma must have from her boyfriend leaving her after she told him she was pregnant.”

 

He knows he’s messed up, that he’s shared too much, the moment the words leave his lips. He doesn’t even know if it’s true, doesn’t want to invade on the parts of Emma’s life that she doesn’t want to share, and he sure as hell shouldn’t have shared her private life with his brother.

 

“The woman you like is pregnant?”

 

“Yep,” he answers nonchalantly, looking away from the screen so that he doesn’t have to see the way Liam’s looking at him with slanted eyes and parted lips. “She’s sixteen weeks pregnant, and I think she’s going to find out if she’s having a girl or boy today, if my googling is any indication.”

 

“Killian,” Liam sighs, the disappointment in his voice obvious, “I love you and support you, but this isn’t one of your best decisions. Her life is obviously complicated, and you need something simple. Because I know you. You’ll fall hard and fast and get attached to both her and the baby only for the father to come back into the picture and you to get left in the dust.”

 

Liam’s words ring true, but he’s not about to let his brother terrify him away from one of the best friends he’s had in years. And he’s not about to leave Emma to be alone, pregnancy or no pregnancy. They are friends, and him wanting them to be more than that won’t change anything. If he has to, he’ll stay her friend and nothing more for the rest of his life. He simply likes to spend time with her and for her to be happy.

 

He likes when she’s happy.

 

She makes him happy.

 

“I appreciate your concern, but you don’t need to be. We’re simply friends, and her being pregnant doesn’t change who she is as a person.”

 

“Just think about what I’ve said.”

 

“I will.”

 

He won’t.

 

When he gets home several hours later, he takes the opportunity of having the night to himself to clean his apartment. He doesn’t need to deep clean it, but he definitely needs to straighten up and dust off the bookshelves. He probably needs to wash the sheets in the guest room too. It’s been awhile since they were touched, and everything in that room is beginning to feel a bit stale. But he really won’t go down to the basement to do laundry until Thursday when he’s also got some clothes he needs to wash.

 

So he focuses on the living room, taking all of the books off the bookshelf and dusting underneath them all the while candles burn to make everything smell less sterile. Or like lemons. Sterile and lemons. It’s like a hospital in here.

 

He’s sitting on the ground in his living room organizing some of his old binders from when he was getting his doctorate that he saves for God knows what reason when his front door swings open and Emma comes into view, her favorite oversized plaid blanket wrapped around her shoulders and dragging along the ground. He doesn’t look up, just sees her mismatched socks, and continues to restack the shelves.

 

“Killian?”

 

The sound of her voice, the way that it’s strained and watery, gets his attention, and he’s immediately up off the floor, not caring how much it hurts his knees after being on the ground for so long. He’s by her in an instant, and even though she’s looking at the ground, he can see the tear tracks on her cheeks and the way her eyes are read and puffy, all of her makeup removed. And he doubts she removed it with the wipes she uses.

 

“Emma?” he questions, placing his thumb on her chin and guiding her gaze up to his. “Love, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

 

She nods her head up and down before leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his middle. He can feel her bump in between them, and he wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her even closer, letting her bury her head in his shirt as he rubs his hand up and down her back. He’s got no clue what’s happening, not a one, and the only thing that comforts him is knowing that the baby is okay. He just hopes Emma is okay too.

 

“I-I’m s-sorry,” she sniffles, the words murmured into his t-shirt. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to c-cry, but I…I had a bad day.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want to ignore it?”

  
  
“Talk about it, but I want ice cream first.”

  
  
“I don’t have any ice cream.”

  
  
“Yes, you do. I put it in your freezer last week.”

 

He chuckles into her hair before pulling back, swiping his thumbs underneath her eyes to wipe away her tears. They’re still watery and puffy, but he hopes that changes soon. He also cannot believe she snuck ice cream in here.

 

“Go get your secret ice cream, love, and I will put my listening ears on.”

 

“You’re such a dork.”

 

He settles down on his couch while Emma gets her ice cream, coming back with the small container and handing him a spoon. It’s banana split flavored, and while he doesn’t love that, if Emma wants him to eat some ice cream right now, he’ll eat some ice cream. Mostly though he just wants her to know everything is okay.

 

After she’s eaten half the carton, she finally puts the spoon down and the ice cream on the table. It’s going to melt, but he really shouldn’t be worrying about that right now.

 

“I’m having a girl,” she finally says, the corners of her lips ticking up into a small smile. “I saw her on the monitor today, and God, Killian, it was like…it was like magic.”

  
  
“Yeah?” he asks, and he can feel the own smile on his face. That little girl is going to be so loved.

 

“Yeah.” She pulls her knees up to her stomach and wraps her blanket around her knees again. “I’m really excited, which I’m sure doesn’t make sense with the breakdown I just had.”

 

“It makes perfect sense, Swan.”

 

She rolls her eyes, wiping at her eyes again. “Okay, okay, so I’m going to tell you some stuff, and I really hope you’re not going to judge me for it.”

  
  
“Never.”

  
  
“That’s what you say now.”

 

“I promise I won’t judge, love. This, like whatever that blasted gym is called down the street, is a judgment free zone.”

 

She laughs a little bit, and he already feels a bit better that she feels better. He’s still absolutely terrified of what she has to say.

 

“My parents are dead,” she blurts out, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth, the surefire sign that she’s nervous. “My mom, I didn’t…I never even knew her. There are pictures I have, pictures from when I’m a few months old, and that’s really all I have. I actually, she didn’t die, not that I know. She left me and dad, and since I don’t like to think about that, I like to think that she’s just…dead.”

 

“I do the same thing with my dad,” he admits, and Emma’s head shoots up so fast that she must get whiplash. He’s guessing she wasn’t expecting that. “It hurts so much to feel unwanted that you rationalize and try to convince yourself that something else happened.”

 

“I’m sorry, Killian.”

 

“I’m sorry for you too. Bet you didn’t expect our parental history to be so similar.”

  
  
“Not at all. I just…is your mom dead too? Because I’m sure you saw the news of when my dad was killed, and I – I’d hate for you to have been through what I went through.”

  
  
“Cancer,” he shrugs, pushing down all of his emotions. He’s come to peace with his parents’ deaths...or abandonment, really. They still sting on occasion, but he’s come to peace with them. “She died of cancer. I think we make quite the pair, Swan. So is that why you’re upset? Your parents?”

 

“In a way,” she admits, curling into an even smaller ball, “but not really. I mean, I miss my dad every day, but that’s not why I told you not to make fun of me. I told you not to make fun of me because well, I…I got pregnant through a sperm donor.”

 

Well, there goes every single theory he’s had. Like, every single one. He was not expecting that at all, not in the slightest, and he’s not sure what to say. He’s not even sure if he’s supposed to say anything. It’s really not a big deal, but she obviously feels like it is. She wouldn’t be announcing it in this way if she didn’t think so.

 

“I just…I have been alone for a lot of my life when I really just wanted a family, but I seem to have crappy luck in that department. And the same with guys. God, one day I’ll have to tell you about all of my shitty boyfriends. But I don’t know, I didn’t want to have to wait for a guy to have my own family. I wanted to take it into my own hands, so I did.”

  
  
“That’s brave of you, love.”

  
  
“Then why does it make me feel weak? What am I doing to this little girl? She’s not going to have a dad, grandparents. She’s just going to have me, which is what I wanted, but what if she resents me for that one day? What if I screw her up because she doesn’t have anyone but me because I’m alone? That’s why I’m freaking out. I’m freaking out that I’ve been selfish and have already messed my daughter up.”

 

“You’re not going to, not beyond what’s normal. You’re already a great mum. I promise. And you’re not alone.”

  
  
“But I am.”

 

“I know this might be forward, Emma, but I will always, always be by your side if you let me. You don’t have to be alone.”

  
  
“You say that now, but what happens when I have the baby, when I’m tired and cranky and have this loud little girl that’s going to take up all of my time. You’re young, you’re kind, and I really don’t understand why you spend so much time with a sad pregnant lady.”

 

He shrugs. “I like you. I like being around you. And if you let me, I’ll like being around your little girl even when you’re both having meltdowns. You mean a lot to me, love. These past few months just cooking with you and getting to know you and arguing over the merits of British television versus American television – ”

 

“American is better.”

  
  
“So you say. But these weeks have been incredible, and I really do consider you one of my closest friends.”

 

Emma opens her mouth to say something, but then her lips close and she’s leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his middle while she settles herself on his lap. “Thank you.”

 

He doesn’t respond, just kisses the crown of her head and holds onto her in the way she’s holding onto him.

 

* * *

 

Months begin to pass at a quicker rate than they have for his entire life. He’s not entirely convinced that hasn’t entered some kind of time warp because before he knows it, he’s finished with his semester at school and on Christmas break for two weeks. He spends his time between preparing for next semester, hanging out with Robin and Roland as they take Roland around to city to look at decorations, and working in Emma’s spare bedroom to set up the nursery for her daughter. It doesn’t take him long to finish painting and building the crib, but considering that’s all Emma’s bought besides a few outfits, there’s really nothing else to do.

 

Naturally this means that he drags her out shopping, finding every Christmas sale that he can as he goes down the list of things every newborn needs. He’s put far more research into this than he should have, and as prepared as Emma is with her job, she’s not so much that way in other parts of her life. She kind of just figures that things will work out, that she’ll make them work out, and with what he’s learned about her, she’s not wrong. It doesn’t make him feel better about everything, though, so he helps her go shopping and after weeks of prodding, he convinces her to allow her coworkers to throw her a shower.

 

It was like pulling teeth, but even Emma will open up to accepting free stuff.

 

She has off Christmas Eve, and while she apparently had a few offers from some of her friends from work, she’s spending it with him, going to Robin’s house so they can have dinner with he and Roland. It’s not the most festive of celebrations, but for people who don’t have a large friend group or family, having a seven-year-old running around on a sugar high talking about how Santa coming is about as good as you can get for Christmas Eve.

 

He’s watching Emma talk to Roland about the latest episode of Paw Patrol, showing as much enthusiasm as she does when they’re in a fierce debate over their own shows, and he can feel his smile stretching across his entire face.

 

“You’ve got it bad, mate.”

 

“Yeah,” he sighs, not even bothering to look at Robin while Emma quickly glances at him with a soft smile on her face and an elf headband perched on her hair, “I do.”

 

She falls asleep at his apartment that night, snuggling into his bed underneath all of his covers, and while he’s sure that Emma wouldn’t mind, would probably insist that it’s fine for him to stay in his own bed, he turns on his fan and kisses her forehead, whispering Happy Christmas before he settles down into his guest room, making sure to text Liam before he falls asleep.

 

January passes in a literal flurry of snow, the new semester starting with everyone having to brush their coats and hats off when they step inside. It’s beautiful yet annoying, and he won’t mind when it finally starts to get a bit warmer.

 

He decides that he loves Emma like the pathetic fool that he is one night when she comes knocking at his door around two in the morning and asks if he’ll go to the store and buy her bride’s cake ice cream. It’s not at the first store or any of the damn stores he goes to that night, and as frustrated as he is coming home with banana split ice cream since he knows that’s her favorite, he realizes that there’s not a single other person in the world who he’d spend over an hour in the middle of the night looking for ice cream for.

 

She really likes ice cream.

 

When he gets back to his apartment, she’s asleep on the couch with the comforter from his bedroom wrapped around her, and he doesn’t even care.

 

He doesn’t. He just wants her to be happy. They’ll eat the ice cream tomorrow.

 

“Killian,” she gasps one day when they’re sitting in her living room, the both of them on their laptops doing work.

 

“Yeah, love? You okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” she promises, looking over at him with her entire face aglow. “You’ve got to feel what she’s doing in here though.” She moves her laptop and grabs his hand, placing it over her stomach where he can feel a definite pressure from where her baby must be doing high kicks. “Do you feel that?”

 

“How could I not?” he whispers, his voice leaving him with the disbelief that he can feel Emma’s daughter moving inside of her. Emma’s been feeling her for months, but he never has. “That’s incredible, darling.”

  
  
“It’s insane. It’s like she’s practicing karate or something in there.”

 

“Exactly my thoughts,” he laughs, moving his hand around her stomach and feeling the movements follow. “Hello, little love. Are you practicing inside mummy? I’m sure that can’t be too comfortable for her, yeah?” He looks up at Emma with a smile that immediately fades when he sees the water that’s forming around her irises. “Swan, what’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” she insists, even as she wipes her tears off of her cheeks. “Nothing is wrong. Hormones, you know?”

 

He doesn’t believe her, but he lets it slide, knowing not to push her right now. “Yeah, little love, I think you really are driving your mum crazy.”

 

At the end of February she gives him the invitation to her baby shower at work, insisting that he doesn’t have to come, especially since they’re giving it in the middle of the day. But he’s the one who insisted that she accept their invitation to host one, and he wants to always be there for her. So he cancels his classes for the day, citing a family emergency, and heads to her law office with a bag full of small things that no one bought off of the registry but that he knows that she needs.

 

Seriously, he knows far too much about pregnancy and the first year of a baby’s life.

 

“How can I help you, hon?” a receptionist named Anna asks him when he walks in.

 

“I’m just dropping by for Emma’s baby shower.”

 

Anna’s face lights up, and she immediately gets out of her chair. And comes to stand next to him. “Oh, you must be the daddy. It’s so nice to meet you. We love our Emma, but she is so reserved sometimes. I’m surprised she’s even letting us do this.”

  
  
“Ah, yeah,” he awkwardly mumbles, reaching up to scratch behind his ear while he’s led to the breakroom. “I’m not – ”

 

“Killian?” Emma questions, interrupting him from correcting Anna. “What are you doing here?”

  
  
“You didn’t think I was going to miss this, did you?” He nods to Anna before walking over to Emma and pressing a kiss against her cheek while her perfume invades his senses. She looks absolutely beautiful today, glowing in all of the clichéd ways. “I cancelled my classes for the day. Figured I’d mooch off some of the cake and help you take your gifts home.”

 

He sees the blush rise on her cheeks, and she just shakes her head back and forth, looking down at her shoes…which are slippers. She must have not bothered changing back into her heels. He doesn’t blame her. Not that he has worn heels. He just can’t see how they could possibly be comfortable.

 

“You’re ridiculous, but thank you. Ruby’s grandmother made the cake, so you’re in for a treat.”

 

Emma’s definitely the quietest of all of the people in the breakroom, but it’s nice to see her laughing and spending time with other people besides him and his friends. She may claim to not be the most social of people, but he can tell how comfortable she is laughing and joking around with her coworkers, opening up all kinds of outfits that make jokes about Emma being a lawyer as well as several things that he knows he’ll be unpacking in the nursery.

 

Emma wasn’t joking when she said he was in for a treat because as Emma wraps her arm around his waist while he carries her last round of presents, he realizes that this has been a surprisingly fun day.

 

Well, surprising isn’t the right word. He loves any time they get together.

 

As spring begins, all of the snow fading away and green grass and bright flowers blooming again, he thinks that time really is zooming forward at an alarming rate. At least for him. For Emma, she’s miserable in her last month of pregnancy. He can tell from the look on her face every day when she gets home from work and the way she doesn’t want to do anything, usually snapping at him when he suggests something. He’s completely and totally aware of how odd their friendship is, how he’s basically in a committed relationship without being in a relationship at all, and he really doesn’t care.

 

Liam thinks he’s crazy, Robin might too, and while he might be, again, he absolutely doesn’t care.

 

Two weeks before her due date he starts sleeping at Emma’s apartment. She can only get comfortable when he’s wrapping his body around hers, supporting her stomach with his arms while she tucks her freezing feet in between his calves. He’s not even really sure how they figured this out. Like most things with his relationship with Emma, it all just happened naturally.

 

Emma losing her key and having to vomit in his bathroom may very well be the best thing that ever happened to him.

 

At three in the morning on April sixth, Emma wakes him up and, through the grit of her teeth, tells him to grab the damn hospital bag because she’s having the baby. He’s never been more terrified of anything than he is hearing those words, and he’s not even the one giving birth. There’s more screaming, crying, cursing, and crushed hands than he expected, but fifteen hours after checking into the hospital, Emma has the tiniest, most precious baby girl in her arms.

 

Sawyer Reese Swan.

 

“Hi, my name is Sawyer, and my mummy is a lawyer.”

  
  
“I am going to hurt Killian,” Emma whispers to Sawyer, running her finger over her face like she’s been doing for the past two hours. “He’s making fun of the name of my sweet baby, and if I wasn’t extremely hormonal and hurting like hell, he would get a nice slap across his face. Yeah, he would, baby.”

 

He leans down and presses his lips to the crown of Emma’s head, wiping her hair back. “You’re teaching your daughter to be violent from the very beginning.”

 

“Yes, yes I am.” Her eyes move away from Sawyer to look up at him, the green bright even though they’re still red rimmed. “Thank you for being here today, and all of the time. You don’t…you don’t have to be here at all. You don’t have to be so good to me, to us, and I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you.”

  
  
“Hey,” he soothes, settling down onto her mattress and placing his hand over her forearm while the other tugs at Sawyer’s hat, “there is never any need to repay me. Since the day you knocked on my door and threw up in my toilet, I have been absolutely thrilled to be your friend and to be by your side. I wouldn’t change any of this.”

  
  
“Yeah?”

  
  
“Absolutely.” He wants to tell her he loves her, but he can’t. Not like this. He’s wanted to for months. He is absolutely in love with her, but now is not the time. He’s not sure there will ever be the time, but now is definitely not it. But he’s absolutely besotted with she and Sawyer. “You are my absolute best friend. I would say that you’re my favorite person, but that’s this little girl.”

  
  
He looks down at Sawyer’s small face, the way her lips twitch, before looking up at Emma, who has a tear falling from her eye that he has to wipe away. “You’re my best friend too. And she is pretty great, isn’t she?”

  
  
“She’s perfect.”

 

* * *

 

“Wow, your daughter looks just like her daddy,” the nurse tells Emma when she’s coming in to check how Emma’s healing, and the more he looks at Sawyer, the more he agrees, which is impossible. He’s very much in love with Emma and would love to be a father figure for Sawyer if that’s what Emma allows him to be, but it’s physically impossible for him to be Sawyer’s dad. Emma went to a sperm bank, was artificially inseminated, and besides that, they’ve never even slept together. There’s no physical way for him to be her dad. Emma probably just has a type, dark hair and blue eyes, and that’s all.

 

But it nags at him for the next few hours as Emma sleeps and he cuddles with Sawyer, walking her back and forth in the room, admiring the petite features and relaxed face that she’s miraculously keeping, the crying at a minimum so far except when she struggled latching the first few times. It couldn’t…there’s no way. He’d donated sperm a few years ago, just the one time, and it had been a desperate attempt to pay for his rent when he was in between jobs right after getting his Masters. It’s not something he was proud of, not wanting to have a child out in the world he didn’t know about, not wanting to be like his father in any way, but Sawyer…she looks like him. He can see a bit of Emma, but he mostly sees himself.

 

Which is all crazy. Newborns all look the same.

 

Is he crazy? Is this just some kind of desperate attempt to be the father of his best friend’s baby? Because that sounds like something a lunatic would do.

 

He is not a lunatic.

 

Maybe he is a lunatic.

 

“Hey, little love,” he coos when Sawyer stirs in his arms, her small blue eyes opening up to him, “are you sleeping well? Like mummy? Yeah? You’re already doing so well. An overachiever, I tell you.” Her small arms reach up to him as much as she can, which isn’t saying much, and he gives her his finger, letting her tiny fingers grasp around his larger one.

 

“I want a picture of you two.”

 

Emma’s voice shocks him, making him turn to look at her in the bed. She looks exhausted, beautiful but exhausted. She did a lot today…or yesterday. It’s probably five the next morning now, but he’s honestly not sure. He hasn’t checked his phone or watch in awhile.

 

“Why, love?”

 

“Because moments like this need to be documented. Come here.”

 

He steps closer to her, sitting down on the side of her bed while she gets her phone of off the side table and begins taking pictures, just a few before she asks for him to hand Sawyer back to her.

 

“Emma, love,” he begins, reaching up and scratching behind his ear, “can I ask you something?”

 

“As long as I don’t have to get up out of this bed, you can ask me anything you want.”

 

“Where did you go…to have her?”

 

“Huh?”

  
  
“What sperm bank did you go to?”

 

“Weird question but okay,” she hums, looking down at her daughter while she talks. “Um, I went to the New England Center.”

 

Is this…there’s no way. He’s crazy. He has to be crazy. Babies all look the same. How could anyone even tell who Sawyer looks like? He’s just tired and overwhelmed. That’s all. There’s no way that she would have chosen him. There was an entire book full of donors when he was there.

 

“Do you remember anything about your donor?”

 

“Yeah,” she cautiously sighs, eyeing him while helping Sawyer latch on to her breast, this time going easier than the first few times, “of course I do. I spent forever picking one out.”

 

“Describe him to me.”

 

“Killian, what’s this about?”

 

“Do you trust me?”

 

“Of course.”

  
  
“Then tell me.”

 

“Um, okay,” she sighs, running her finger over Sawyer’s dark shock of hair peeking out beneath her hat, “he had black hair, blue eyes, and I think he was 6’1. I’m not sure though. The details are a little fuzzy right now. He went to college at Oxford, which I thought was super cool. He never had braces, his family didn’t have any hereditary diseases. His mom did have cancer, but it was because she was a smoker, not something he could have passed down. It didn’t say where he grew up or anything, but I figured that didn’t matter. I’m sure there was other stuff, but I felt like those were the highlights. Good genes, smart, healthy.”

 

His heart is practically beating out of his chest, threatening to break the skin, and he has to take several deep, calming breaths in an attempt to get himself back to normal. He’s not sure he’s ever going to feel normal ever again, especially as his stomach continues to drop only to rise again.

 

“Did you know his age?”

 

“I think he was twenty-five-ish when he donated.”

 

Holy shit.

 

He thinks that he’s Sawyer’s father.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thank you guys on the response to part one! It's been insane! I hope you enjoy this too!

“Hey, Anna,” she greets as she walks into the office, Sawyer strapped to her chest and a diaper bag thrown over her shoulder.

“Hi,” she squeals, getting up from behind her desk and practically rushing over to Emma so that she instinctively cups the back of Sawyer’s head out of some sort of sense of protection. “What are you doing here, lady? You’re not supposed to come back for another two weeks, but you’ve brought your baby so I’ll give you a pass.”

“She’s sleeping,” she whispers, hating to disappoint Anna. Sometimes Anna can be a bit much, but Emma really does like some of the people in her office most of the time. The only one she really talks to outside of work is Ruby, but she kind of likes it that way. She’s never been one to need a lot of friends at all times, wanting to be alone in the evenings, but being away from all of them has made her miss her coworkers a bit. It might mean that she’s going crazy or is overly tired or something, but she’s missed them. She’s just not here to actually see them. “I’m sure she’ll be up before I leave, so you can see her then, okay? I’m sorry.”

“Oh it’s fine, hon,” Anna promises, reaching up and squeezing her shoulder. “How are you feeling? Why are you here?”

“I’m feeling good. Still a little sore but good. And tired. But I’m getting used to things.” She smiles, running her hand up and down the back of Sawyer’s head to adjust her headband. “And I wanted to pick up some case files to prepare myself before coming back. I didn’t want to be overwhelmed.”

“How are you always so on top of things?”

“I don’t sleep.” The phone rings, and Emma’s a bit thankful for having an excuse to go. “I’ll let you get that, but I promise I’ll let you see her before I leave.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

Emma nods her head before walking away, adjusting her bag on her shoulder as she walks through the offices and says hi to a few people who notice her. Most people don’t pay her any attention, but she can feel some of their stares on her. She works with some good people, but she also works with a hell of a lot of assholes who she knows judge her for being a mom now. They judged her for being a woman before (again, assholes), and she can practically feel their stares now. She really did come into the office so she can get some of her upcoming cases or cases that she’d put on hold for her maternity leave, but she also came in because she knows that she’ll be crucified if she’s even one step behind when she comes back.

The world has gotten a lot better, but sometimes things still suck.

Two steps forward and one step back is still one step forward.

It’s not like she’s even some kind of high-powered, fast-paced lawyer who competes with her coworkers and other firms for who can get the most business. She deals with divorces and custody settlements, which she personally finds more important than mergers, acquisitions, and the corporate law a lot of her coworkers practice, and to her clients, it is fast-paced and important.

Maybe the most important thing in the world.

Her daughter is the most important thing in the world to her, and while at one point in her life she thought that one day she’d be married and have a child with her husband, that’s not how her life has worked out. And she doesn’t bemoan this. She actually likes this.

No, she loves this.

Her daughter is hers. She’s never going to get into a legal battle over her. She’s never going to have her taken away to live with someone else. She’s hers, and it gives Emma a comfort she’s never quite felt before. She really loves her daughter and wants to protect her at all costs.

She will protect her at all costs.

It’s almost like when her body got torn apart and changed through pregnancy and giving birth this protective instinct that she’s never quite had before also became a part of her. She’s not sure if it’s instinctive, genetic, or what. Maybe it was there all along, but it’s been so long since she loved someone with such abandon that she might have hidden that part of herself away.

Not anymore.

After she’s made it through the pit of cubicles and glass walls, she finally makes it to her office, pulling her key out of her pocket and unlocking the door. It’s a bit dusty when she gets inside, a candle or plug-in desperately needed, and she knows that at some point she’s also going to have to clean up in here, dust some of her shelves off and add a few pictures of Sawyer. In the back of her mind, she knows that she could ask Killian to clean and organize for her, but she’s not going to do that. She can clean her own office and make it less…dull.

Maybe she needs a plant. Can she take care of a plant? Of course she can take care of a plant. She has a baby.

She drops her bag on the ground next to her desk, sitting down in her chair and adjusting Sawyer in her Björn, making sure that she can see her face for when she wakes up and is searching Emma out. There are stacks of paper on her desk, someone obviously having left her things despite her office smelling stale, and she’s a little scared to check her email. Her email is going to be absolutely insane.

Okay, so maybe coming into work early was not her best idea, but she wanted to get out of the apartment today. It’s a nice day, the mid-June sun shining brightly in Boston, and going on a walk with Sawyer just didn’t seem like enough…so obviously she came to work to get on top of things.

Maybe she has a problem.

Over the next hour and a half she tries shuffling through everything, having to take Sawyer out of her carrier to feed her about halfway through, and she feels pretty accomplished. Actually, she feels extremely accomplished, and it feels _good_. She’s not quite ready to come back to work and to leave Sawyer (she will cry if she has to think about it, and she is not ashamed), but she does like doing something different. It’s nice doing something other than puttering around the apartment talking to a baby who simply coos back. They’re cute coos but still.

Okay, so her baby is damn cute.

There’s a knock at her office door, Ruby standing at the entranceway with a cup of coffee in her hand that Emma already knows is not for her. She could totally have a cup of coffee right now.

“Look who decided to make an appearance into the world.”

“Shut up. I’m supposed to have off.”

“Oh I’m not talking about you,” Ruby sighs, walking into the room and placing her mug on Emma’s desk. “I am talking about Sawyer. You were pregnant forever, and I didn’t believe your daughter was real for awhile.”  
  
“You’ve seen pictures.”

“But not her in person. She’s cute, Emma.”

“Thank you,” she sighs, rolling in her chair and adjusting Sawyer in her arms so that Ruby can see her more. She really misses her seat that she usually keeps her in at home. It would be really useful right now. “I like to think so.”

“How old is she now?”

“Ten weeks.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’ve left me alone to rot in this office for ten weeks?”

She shrugs. “Pretty much.”

“Well, I’m thrilled to have you back, so I can have more people to talk to at lunch. I’ve been sitting with Graham and Anna, which is just, like, a clash of personalities.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound like it would mix.”

“It doesn’t. I love it.” Ruby picks her mug back up and takes a sip as she backs out of her office. “I don’t have a lot of time to talk right now because I’ve got to go investigate a case for Lorenzo upstairs, but we’re going out to dinner sometime soon. I will even consider coming to your apartment to eat.”

“Such a saint.”

Ruby winks. “I know.”

After another half hour, she packs up her stuff to go home so she can work on things over the the next two weeks in her own time. She makes sure to stop by the front desk so Anna can see Sawyer while she’s awake, but she really can’t stay much longer because Sawyer needs to take a better nap in her crib. She sleeps pretty well, but Emma can tell when she doesn’t get comfortable sleep versus when she does.

It’s not fun for either of them when Sawyer doesn’t get good sleep.

It’s really not fun.

Traffic is bad on her way home, but she does eventually get there, pulling into her spot in the lot and getting Sawyer out of her car seat while she wails over the sudden stop in the car. This afternoon is just going to be a bad day, but they’ll get through it. They have so far, and she plans on getting through all of the days in the future. She’s been through some shit in her life, and a crying baby is not going to bring her down.

Today.

There have been days when she cries just as much. Being a mom is hard. Rewarding but hard.

After a few hours, Emma decides that the nap simply isn’t happening, so she goes through their routine of feeding, changing, tummy time, and bath time all the while telling stories and just letting Sawyer hear her voice. It’s comforting for her in the same way that she hopes it’s comforting to Sawyer, and she just likes talking to her kid about whatever she wants to talk to her kid about.

Finally, she gets her to go down, hoping that she sleeps through most of the night, and there’s blessed quiet through the apartment as she drinks a glass of water standing in her kitchen. And it’s the exact moment that she hears the lock in her door twisting, the wood opening in its frame, and Killian appearing dressed in his favorite sweatpants and Henley, his feet only covered in socks.

It’s unfair how attractive the Henley is. It’s black, and he always wears it unbuttoned with the sleeves pushed up so she can see the dark hair on his forearms and the way that the muscles flex there whenever he’s doing anything. And the fact that he’s wearing gray sweatpants doesn’t really help anything either. It certainly doesn’t hide anything.

She’s always known the guy was attractive. That’s never been a question in her mind, and while she doesn’t think she’s ever been one of those women who just fawn over men, she’d be crazy to admit that he doesn’t do something to her. She doesn’t like admitting to it, doesn’t like admitting that she’s attracted to him, and what she really doesn’t like admitting is the fact that she has some pretty intense feelings for him. High school, first love, intense feelings.

Or just regular feelings that for a long time she attributed to her pregnancy hormones. For almost her entire second trimester, she almost just asked him to sleep with her several times a night just because she so desperately needed something. It’s been a long time since she’s had sex, and having Killian be in her life doesn’t exactly help that.

So she’s known that she’s physically attracted to him, but emotionally, that was a little harder to accept. And she’s still not totally convinced on what exactly she’s feeling. Relationships are hard for her. Now, as an adult who likes to think she’s got an okay grasp on her emotions, she knows that it began not having parents that were together and a dad who was happy but who pretty much only had her. He dated, but she was never under any impression that she and his job weren’t the two most important things in her life. Sometimes she worries about how this might affect Sawyer when it comes to her being a single mom, but she’s hoping that she has some time to figure it all out. And hopefully Sawyer won’t have exes who screw her over.

It’s not…she loved Neal so fiercely as a teenager and a young adult, and she refused to accept that her dad was right in saying that Neal could be emotionally manipulative of her, never letting her make her own decisions. Hell, she almost dropped out of college for him because he wanted to move to follow some dream to be a musician when he can’t even sing, and to this day, she still can’t believe that she even considered that. Like, she wants to slap herself upside the head for considering that, for not allowing her own voice and thoughts to be heard. And everyone after him was kind of the same with different variations. They were nice at first, but things just seemed to go wrong along the way. Not every one of them were tragic. Some simply ended. Graham is one of those, and while she never wants to date him again, she still feels fondness for him, especially since they still work together.

But then her dad died, and love seemed a little less grand. It just seemed hard and heartbreaking, and things likely became twisted in her mind. She’s been untwisting them over the past few years, though. She’s learning that not all pain is bad pain, and not all love is going to end in heartbreak. She knows that there are going to be times when she and Sawyer don’t get along, when she wonders how the hell she has such a frustrating kid, but the love isn’t going to stop.

Ever.

And maybe one day she’ll fully open herself up to loving someone else again, to allowing someone to love her, but right now she’s a little terrified to do that. She and Killian are just friends, or so she thinks. Sometimes he looks at her with just this…longing in his eyes, and she thinks she might have the same in hers. But it’s so complicated when it comes to him because she’s allowed herself to rely on him in a way that she hasn’t truly relied on anyone in years, and she knows that evolving their relationship to a romantic one wouldn’t just shift things between them, it would shift things between he and Sawyer as well. If he leaves, it doesn’t just change her life, it changes her daughter’s too. Sawyer may not remember him now, but she’ll remember when she’s older if he’s still around.

She won’t let someone leave her daughter because of something she’s done.

Not that she thinks Killian would. While she’s not sure if he has feelings for her, she knows that he loves her daughter. He may love her daughter as much as he loves Roland or Liam, and that terrifies her a bit. It fills her with joy, but it also terrifies her. He’s a good guy with a big heart, even in the moments where she sees flashes of darkness and insecurity that she knows comes from his upbringing and his relationships. She understands him in the same way that he understands her, and it’s that very thing that gives her the comfort that maybe he won’t leave.

It doesn’t mean she thinks she’s ready for something more, but maybe one day the thought won’t shake her to her core. Maybe she simply needs a little more time.

Right now, she simply wants to focus on her daughter and being a good mom, a good lawyer, and hopefully a good friend to Killian. He’s done a lot for her, and while she knows that he didn’t do it for anything in return, he doesn’t deserve for her to treat him like crap. The man regularly eats ice cream with her at two in the morning and lets her talk about nothing for hours on end. It doesn’t seem like much, but it’s a lot to her.

And it’s not the only thing he does for her, but right now she’s kind of thinking about ice cream. She’s really been liking ice cream over the past few months, and the summer heat doesn’t help.

“Hello, darling,” Killian greets, walking over to her in the kitchen and quickly brushing his lips across her cheek, gooseflesh rising on her skin. “How was your mini day back at work?”

“Tiring,” she sighs, letting her shoulders slump. “And Sawyer was so good while we were there, but she had a meltdown for the rest of the evening.”

She watches as he grabs a diet coke out of her fridge, the one that he decided needed organizing last week before six in the morning, before he settles down on top of her countertop, having to adjust himself until he’s comfortable. She usually loves to sit on countertops, but it hasn’t been super comfortable lately. She’s not exactly sure why she ever thought it was.

“Is she asleep now?” he asks, popping open the tab.

“Yeah, but you can see her when she wakes up if you stay that long since I know you’re only really here for her.”

“Hey,” he groans, his lips pressing together and morphing into a smile that does something to her no matter how much she doesn’t want to let her do something to her, “that is only partially true. I am quite fond of her mother too even when she’s accusing me of only being here for the baby.”

“How sweet of you.”

“I try.”

“How was your day?” she asks, moving around the counter and sitting down on the barstool. She’s starving, really needs to eat dinner, but she’s not quite sure what Killian is going to make. Maybe she can make something. Maybe they should just eat pizza even though she’s trying to watch what she eats, ice cream not included. “I didn’t hear from you all day.”

“Aye, sorry about that, love. Teaching a full load over the summer is kind of killing me because we meet in class every day.”  
  
“How hard it must be to go to work five days a week. That’s never happened in the history of the world.”

He rolls his eyes and scratches behind his hear, but he doesn’t protest. “Okay, so true, but I’m used to a bit of flexibility and long breaks. I don’t mind the money though. I quite like the money, actually, and it’s much better than having to work some odd job selling insurance for three months just to make sure I can keep money in my savings for the future.”

“Seems responsible.”

“Well, between you and Liam, I’ve definitely gotten my shit together on that front.”

“And I will take my thank you in the form of dinner. I know we’re doing healthy, but I kind of want some Chinese food. I wanted ice cream earlier and then pizza, but now I’m kind of thinking Chinese.”

“Bloody hell. It’s like we’re going through your third trimester all over again.”

“I’m not really appreciating you tonight, so you and your newly put together finances can pay for the Chinese. I want extra egg rolls.”

Killian pulls out his phone. “I know, Swan.”

They eat dinner, talking about the rest of their days before falling into watching TV and falling into their normal debate and conversation about the characters on their screens and how the writers could have changed things. They’re into Game of Thrones right now, even if Killian was wary of watching it with her since she hasn’t read the books, she doesn’t seem him complaining.

Okay, so he complains about some of the differences between the book and the show, but that’s pretty tame for him. They’re both nerds. They just show it in different ways.

Killian is much more obvious about it all, while she’s more reserved, only letting bits peek through out of self-preservation, but it’s nice to have someone who’s not going to judge her for enjoying the feeling she gets when she checks off all of her items on her to-do list and gets all of her files perfectly organized while also really like Star Wars. How can you not like Star Wars?

“Do you want to go to Rob’s for lunch on Saturday? I think we’re going to go to Rol’s football game first, but I figured you wouldn’t want to take Sawyer out in the heat for that long.”

“That sounds good,” she mumbles while holding a cold egg roll to her mouth. “And yeah, we can join you guys at his apartment afterward. I haven’t seen them for weeks. I miss them.”

“Roland misses you. I’m not sure if Robin does, but I know Roland does.”

“I’m both insulted and flattered. I’ve got to text Ruby and set up dinner sometime. I may need your help.”

“Babysitting?”

“Cooking,” she laughs, turning her head to face him. “She might come over here. Or maybe I’ll have you babysit. I don’t know. I don’t want to leave Sawyer until I absolutely have to.”

“I know, love. It might be easier for you to do an hour or two gone, though, before you go back to work. I mean, obviously up to you, but it’s an idea.”  
  
“I hate how much sense that makes.”

“I’m a smart man.”

“So you keep telling me.”  
  
“And one day, maybe you’ll believe me.”

 

* * *

 

The entire summer is sweltering, but she spends it running between an office that has the air conditioning turned up far too high and an apartment that seems to never get cool enough despite her air conditioning working perfectly fine. Honestly, sometimes going outside is more pleasant than staying in, especially down by the harbor or the Charles where there’s a breeze flowing off the water and keeping she and Sawyer cool when she takes her out for walks in the afternoons after work. Getting back into working was difficult, even with how much she tried to prepare for it, but she thinks she’s gotten the hang of it. Leaving Sawyer at daycare is another story, but there are days when it’s nice to not be in charge of another human being for a few hours.

Or at least not be in charge of another human being’s continued life. Being in charge of a divorce is different.

Still, it’s nice to be an adult not tethered to a baby sometimes, even if she does so crave days where she gets to go home and watch Sawyer develop with the way the she can roll a bit or prop herself up as she reaches for toys. Plus, she’s got the cutest little laugh that brings Emma such joy that she feels like she hasn’t experienced in a long time.

She’s happy. She’s happy with her entire life, and while sometimes she does wish that her dad could be here to see his granddaughter who she thinks has his eyes for how blue they are, she’s perfectly content and thrilled with how her life is right now. Honestly, it might be better than it has been in a long time. She has her family, and she’s really grown to love her close group of friends, allowing them into her life a little more than she used to.

Which is exactly why she’s letting Anna watch her daughter as she gets dressed to go to a Red Sox game and out to dinner with Killian who has convinced her that she needs to go out and do something fun for herself. She couldn’t think of anything, didn’t feel like putting in the effort of figuring things out, so she went with what everyone in Boston does when they need to do something fun. It’s cliché, and neither of them really even watch baseball, but it’s something to do.

Plus, she’s definitely going to chow down on junk food at the game before they find something to eat for dinner. Really, she’s doing this for the food and some time on her own that’s not work. If getting to spend time with Killian happens to be a part of this, well, she’s not going to complain.

Not at all.

He’s her best friend, and over this summer, she’s definitely decided that having to throw up in his bathroom was actually a good thing.

A really good thing.

And maybe on some days she feels like she’s just going to grab Killian by the shirt collar, pull him to her, and kiss the holy hell out of him. She hasn’t done that yet, but she really wants to, even more than she used to.

Going on what’s basically a date right now doesn’t help, especially since Anna is convinced that she and Killian are made for each other after she apparently assumed that he was Sawyer’s father all the way back at the baby shower. That would be wild, but it’s just not true.

It’d be impossible.

“Alright, baby,” she sighs, leaning down and kissing Sawyer’s forehead right at her dark hair that’s been turning a little more brown lately. It still looks black, but she sees hint of brown in it sometimes under certain lights. “Momma is going to be back later tonight. Be good for Anna.” She squeezes Sawyer’s fingers before she looks up at Anna. “Okay, so you know where everything is? You know how to heat up a bottle? That you can call me if you need something? Seriously. Call for anything.”

“I know, Emma,” Anna chuckles, bouncing Sawyer in her arms while smiling at Emma. “I watch my sister’s kids all of the time. You know this. It’s literally why you’re letting me watch her.”

“I’m letting you watch her because I trust you and because I like you more than I like the people at her daycare.”

“And because you wanted to go on a date.”  
  
“It’s not a date.”  
  
“It’s totally a date.” Anna winks at her before looking down at Sawyer and cooing, “Your mommy is going on a date. She just doesn’t realize it.”

“This is what I get for becoming friends with you outside of the office.”  
  
“Please, I am great. But seriously. I know you’re just going to a baseball game, but you look hot, mama. And if you want to get a hotel or stay in Killian’s apartment for a few extra hours, let me know. I will be happy to stay so you can get it on.”  
  
“Anna,” she chuckles, reaching her hand out and gently hitting her on the shoulder while her stomach moves with laughter, “I’m not using you so I can have sex.”

“But you could. It would be totally worth it.”

“We are so not talking about this right now.”  
  
“But we’ll talk about it afterwards when you’re regretting coming back here too early and not actually _coming_.”

Anna smirks, moving her brows a bit in a way that reminds her of Killian, and she can’t help but shake her head as she kisses Sawyer’s forehead again before she’s grabbing her purse, stopping by the front door to check her lipstick in the mirror and completely ignoring Anna’s comments about how she really won’t be mad if Emma’s back later than she’s supposed to be.

Who knew that Anna would be as invested in her sex life as Ruby is?

She opens her door only to run right into Killian, putting her hands against his chest while catching her feet and making sure she doesn’t fall back while Killian’s hands find her waist, fingers grabbing at the skin just above her shorts and under her blouse. When she looks up at him, his eyes are blown wide, the blue somehow seeming more familiar than usual as he continuously blinks while his lips gape open.

“Hi,” she laughs, stretching out her hands into his t-shirt, feeling his heart beat a steady rhythm under her palms. “I was just going to – ”

“Come to my apartment?”

“Yeah. I should have known you’d get here before I could get there.”

“Yeah, you should have,” he laughs, squeezing her hips before releasing them, his lips stretched into a smile that stretches across his entire face. “Hello, Anna. Nice to see you.”

Anna pretty much looks like the cat who ate the canary right now, and Emma can feel the blush rising in her cheeks right now. Why is blush rising in her cheeks? How does she make it stop? Anna’s definitely gotten into her head, not that the thoughts weren’t there before. But now they’re really there.

“Hi, Killian. You want to say bye to the kid before you guys go?”

“Of course. I’ve got to say bye to my little lady.” He beams, walking over to Anna and taking Sawyer out of her arms only for Sawyer to absolutely light up with joy over seeing with Killian. She recognizes him so easily now, usually giggling and reaching out for him when he comes over or when they go out, and it makes her smile. He’s so good with her that it’s almost shocking. As terrifying as it is for someone else to love her daughter, it’s also wonderful. Of anything, she’s sure of that now after Killian being so good to her for so long. “Hey, little love,” he sighs, running his hands over her arms and kissing her forehead. “Thank you for letting me take Mummy out today. I promise I shall return her to you before ten.”

“Or later,” Anna adds in, and Emma almost hits her head against the door.

“Or later,” Killian laughs, kissing Sawyer again before handing her back to Anna. “Thanks for watching her, love.”

“It is literally no problem. Now go you two. Have fun. Catch a ball. Get on the jumbotron. Do whatever you do at baseball games.”

“Yeah, so I’m taking you to a baseball game someday,” Emma laughs as she walks out the door, Killian’s hand ghosting over the small of her back as they leave. “Be home tonight.”  
  
“The morning is fine too.”

“Love,” Killian chuckles, closing her door behind them, “if I didn’t know better, I think Anna is going to steal all of your stuff for how much she wants you gone.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about her.”

“Wasn’t planning on it. We’ve got to go to a baseball game, where I think we’re supposed to watch baseball.”

“Shut up. I know that you at least know how baseball works.”

“I believe there’s a ball. And a bat. And there’s definitely a lot of rounding the bases in what is unfortunately not a sexual way.”

His description was totally satirical, but it’s definitely exactly what it’s like. There is a ball, a bat, and rounding the bases in a non-sexual way, but she knew all of that. It’s not like she’s been living under a rock. She just doesn’t really like sports too much. Today, though, she likes sports. Killian feeds her a live commentary of the game the entire time, making up backstories for each player that she realizes about halfway through are the backstories for the characters out of a creative writing paper from one of his students that he let her read last month when he was grading it and completely enthralled in how good it was. He’s obviously been reading it again since then, and she wouldn’t be surprised if she’s spending extra time mentoring the kid.

She really was unsure of how she was going to like today, even if she was excited for it, but having the sun beat down on her legs and a beer bottle in her hand while everyone seems so happy around them…well, it’s fantastic. She kind of feels like she used to feel, getting out and getting to do things without having to find a babysitter or worry about needing to pump her breasts, and it’s nice to know that she can still do things for herself. She doesn’t think being a parent should mean sacrificing who you are as an individual and giving up the things you love. It involves a lot of sacrifices, but with some things, you have to stand your ground.

Killian’s arm wraps around her shoulder, fingers playing with the strap on her shirt, and she doesn’t even think that he knows that he’s doing it as he practically takes her top off of her while they’re watching this game. His touch is electric, warmer than the sun even though that’s physically impossible, and her entire body is prickling with desire and pleasure and…something.

Want, maybe.

Twisting her head to the side, she looks at Killian and the way the sunlight brings out the ginger in his beard that only really shines through when he’s let his beard grow a little too long. His skin has tanned this summer, and it somehow makes his eyes bluer than they usually are, lighter somehow. She’s really obsessed with his eyes. He’s so beautiful, and when he turns his head to face her, their lips only inches apart, she goes for it.

Like, really goes for it.

Before she can think it through, her lips are pressing against his, and she can feel it through her entire body. He’s soft and warm, and as his lips begin to move with hers instead of staying immobile, she can taste the salt from the popcorn he was eating earlier. She can also feel his scruff brushing against her skin, but honestly, besides how good it feels, it just feels right. She’s fought her feelings for Killian for so long, even if she has let up recently, but it still feels like she’s finally accepting her feelings. It feels like she’s finally accepting him.

It feels like something she should have done a long time ago.

In the spirit of baseball and all that, it feels like she’s sliding home.

“Swan,” Killian breathes when they pull back, the hoarseness in his voice affecting her nearly as much as the kiss did, “that was – ”

“Yeah,” she sighs, smiling to the point where she can feel Killian’s smile against hers, “that was good.”

“That was bloody fucking brilliant.”

She barks out a laugh, slanting her lips over his again, and Killian’s hands immediately find their way into her hair, his fingers tugging at the strands that send shivers down her spine. Yeah, this definitely is bloody fucking brilliant.

“So,” Killian sighs, pulling back from her and wrapping his arm around her shoulder again, fingers moving even more frantically than before, “I’m thinking we have three options.”  
  
“Why do we need options?”

“Just listen. So we have three options. One, we talk about the fact that we just kissed. Two, we continue to watch this game. Or three, we get the hell out of here and go make out somewhere where people won’t stare at us like people around us were just staring.”

“Option three,” she laughs, leaning down to gather her things. “definitely option three.”

 

* * *

 

She’s honestly not sure how she’s supposed to go about dating Killian, but like what she’s discovered in her year of knowing him outside of simply being neighbors, she simply has to let things be. That is pretty much impossible for her, but he helps a lot by making things as comfortable as possible. After the baseball game back in August, they’d gone and grabbed dinner at a café and talked. She hadn’t wanted to, really hadn’t wanted to, but Killian had insisted. She kind of thought maybe he was planning on taking her back to his apartment like Anna had teased her about when he gave her those three options, but no, he went with option one and made her talk about how she was feeling despite the fact that she just wanted to...well, she wanted to sleep with him even though she knew that was not her smartest option.

He made her think through things, which was definitely a mistake on his part. She’d started freaking out, questioning why she would kiss him, but he had somehow reassured her. He’s always reassuring her of things, and honestly, getting to see the smile on his face, getting to see how much he truly wanted to be with her, she knew that she couldn’t break his heart. Not when she wanted exactly the same things as him. So they’d talked, fleshed some more things out, and he’d taken her home, kissing her goodnight outside of her front door and then walking back to his apartment with a goofy grin on his face and his brows moving all across his forehead. She’s pretty sure he tripped over the threshold of his door, and she simply stood there with her bottom lip between her teeth as a giggle rumbled in her stomach.

Anna had freaked out.

And now that she’s been dating Killian for two months, she’s realizing that it’s pretty much the same as it was before. Yeah, so now he kisses the holy hell out of her and shows a lot more physical affection, but emotionally, it’s nearly the same. It’s insane to her how blind she was, how much she thought that they were simply friends, how much she convinced herself of that, and how much things changed with one kiss at a baseball game with an annoyed older man sitting behind them talking about how young people are far too sexual today.

They had literally kissed. It’s not like they were going at it in public. They don’t even sleep together at home. She’s ready for a lot of things, but she’s not ready for that despite the actual, physical ache that she felt after their first kiss. She’s just not ready now that she’s had time to calm down. Maybe soon, but a part of her is still scared that right after she sleeps with Killian, he’ll no longer be interested in her. And she knows that it’s not true. There’s no way it’s true. They’re too good of friends for that, and he loves Sawyer far too much.

And she thinks that he loves her.

She thinks that she loves him.

She’s about ninety nine percent of the way there, but math has never exactly been her strong suit.

It’s terrifying. Love is freaking terrifying. Why does no one ever say that when you’re young? They tell you about all of the good things, but how terrifying and heartbreaking things can be are conveniently left out until you experience it yourself.

“Alright, baby girl,” she sighs, propping Sawyer up on her hip while she applies mascara to her lashes, “you have got to let mommy get ready because we have people coming over to celebrate me getting old. Yeah, your mommy is getting old.”

When she’s finished coating her lashes with mascara, she looks down at Sawyer who is messing with the lace on Emma’s bra, and she absolutely cannot get over how adorable this kid is. She’s really grown so much lately, and Emma absolutely cannot believe that she’s nearly seven months old. How can her baby be that old? She’s got her own little personality, and she’s an absolute spitfire who knows what she wants. She really loves hanging out on her playmat, but there’s nothing she loves more than when Emma blows raspberries on her stomach. She absolutely giggles, and it makes Emma’s heart swell more than anything in the world.

She really loves being a mom, and she’s so incredibly thankful that she’s got her best girl to spend her life with. It’s more than she thought it would be.

“We also have to get you dressed, Sawyer. You get to stay up a little late tonight too, and you’re going to have people fawning over you because you’re so dang cute.”

Sawyer giggles as Emma adjusts her on her hip and walks out of the bathroom to her nursery across the hall, finding the romper and little floral sweater that Killian had bought her next week. He’s always coming over with things that he’s bought for Sawyer, and she swears that she has enough clothes to last her until Sawyer is two. And she’s pretty sure that Killian will just keep buying things. She tells him he doesn’t have to, that he should save his money that he’s working so hard for, but it’s like he doesn’t listen when it comes to doing things for Sawyer.

“You look just beautiful,” she laughs, wrapping a headband around her head and pushing back the black hair on her head that’s starting to grow back in after it fell out.

“So does her mum, even though that outfit is definitely not party appropriate.”

“Holy shi – oot,” she gasps, her heart pounding wildly within her chest while she makes sure Sawyer doesn’t roll off the changing table. That would be a disaster. “Babe, you cannot scare me like that.”

He simply shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest so his biceps bulge under the navy material of his sweater. “I figured you heard me come in.”

“I definitely didn’t if the way my heart is beating right now is any indication,” she laughs, picking Sawyer up who is absolutely squealing to go see Killian, and it’s only when she hands her over that she realizes what Killian was talking about. She’s in her underwear…and Killian is here. Has Killian ever seen her this dressed down? Was he staring at her stomach? Her boobs? Her ass? Does he even care? Of course he cares. He’s a man. She needs to breathe. And to get dressed. Getting dressed would be good. “I’m just going to – ”

“Hey,” he sighs, adjusting Sawyer on his hip while she stares up at him, her small hands grasping at his shirt, “Swan, I didn’t mean to intrude or make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Oh I’m not. I’m just – ” She motions down her body, trying to will the heat she feels from knowing Killian’s gaze is on her. Okay, so maybe she’s feeling kind of ready to sleep with him, especially as she pictures what he looks like under the sweater and jeans…nope, nope, nope. She can’t go down that road right now.

“You’re beautiful,” he finishes for her, reaching his free arm out and tugging her into his side before he brushes his lips against her temple. Her eyes flutter closed, reveling in this moment. “And if it were just the three of us here tonight, I feel like we could definitely reconsider your outfit choice so that this could stay on.”

“Oh yeah?” she questions, feeling a bit bolder.

“Most definitely. I’m rather fond of lace, and I’m sure it would look fantastic with the plaid on my boxers.”

“I feel like those wouldn’t really mix.”

“I feel like they would.”

“So are you talking about…”

“A pajama party, darling,” Killian deadpans, looking at her with full seriousness as he begins to bounce Sawyer on his hip so she won’t get fussy. He’s got this weird way to know when she’s going to get fussy before she even does. Sometimes he knows better than her, which is crazy. “You, me, and the munchkin. We’ll wear our best sleeping attire, and have a personal little party.”

“Oh,” she sighs, a mixture of excitement and disappointment filling her all at once. “That sounds nice.”

“But if you want to have an adult pajama party, love, all you have to do is ask.” He winks before unwrapping his arm. “Now go get dressed. You’ve got a birthday to celebrate.”  
  
“I know, I know. Why didn’t we have a party for you? I’m going to do that next year, so I’m not the only one to suffer.”

“We didn’t have a party for me because you had just started work back and were exhausted, and I was fine watching Sawyer while you slept. Now get dressed, darling.”

He gently pushes her away, and no part of her misses how he grabbed her ass while doing it. He’s not even sly, and when she looks back at him, he’s talking to Sawyer like he wasn’t just feeling up her mom. He throws her a subtle wink, though, and she walks back into her bedroom with a smile on her face as she shakes her head.

 

* * *

 

“Oh come on,” Ruby laughs, everyone in the living room looking at her as she speaks, “you guys are so boring.”  
  
“I’m not boring,” Emma protests, adjusting her dress as scoots back on Killian’s thighs ignoring the slight hiss that he lets out. She pats his leg, but she’s pretty sure that only makes things worse for him. “I just don’t think that we need to move from my very comfortable, nice apartment to go down to O’Leary’s. I have drinks here.”

“You have some wine and an entire freezer full of breast milk.”

“Yeah, the breast milk is off limits.”  
  
“Wasn’t even thinking about it,” Graham chuckles, flashing her a sweet smile that only makes her feel a little guilty having him sit here watching her with a baby and a boyfriend when she knows he still wants to date her. It’s just…it’s not going to happen again, and she likes him as a friend. She shouldn’t feel guilty that it didn’t work out with them romantically.

“You have some rum and whiskey, love,” Killian adds in, his warm hands splaying across her stomach as he literally picks her up off of his lap and adjusts her. She can feel his arousal through his jeans, and yeah, she definitely should have sat on the floor or something to keep him from losing his mind. Maybe to keep her from losing her mind too. “And there’s beer in my apartment. I can guarantee you it’s all better stuff than Will serves down at O’Leary’s.”

“And Emma has Sawyer,” Anna points out while she holds her daughter who is watching everyone in the room with rapt fascination. She really needs to be put down, but she doesn’t seem to be too tired yet. “So unless we want to go full on Sweet Home Alabama and take a baby to a bar, we can celebrate here.”

“I think the baby in a bar is a good route.”

“I can personally attest to the fact that a baby in a bar is not a good idea,” Robin chuckles from his spot on the couch while still cutting up his cake. Ruby brought a cake from her grandmother’s restaurant, and it’s absolutely delicious. She could pretty much melt in the chocolate.

“Hold up, mate. You took Roland to a bar?”

“For five minutes, I swear. And then five minutes turned into about two hours. Marian was so pissed at me. I swear her entire face turned red enough to be a tomato.”

“But your kid is still alive right?”

“Ruby.”

“Shut up, Graham. I’m asking important questions.”  
  
Robin chuckles under his breath, sticking his fork in his mouth. “Yes, Roland is still alive and is safely at home with his sitter.”

“See, Ems, we could totally take Sawyer to a bar.”

“No,” she laughs, rolling her eyes while Killian’s fingers move in circles over her stomach and his scruff brushes the skin at her neck, making her entire body tingle while he kisses her collarbone, “we’re not going to a bar, but we are going to eat all of this food so I’m not left with it. Plus, my couch is far more comfortable than any seat at O’Leary’s.”

Ruby literally groans, her entire body sinking into the cushions. “You are so old.”  
  
“That’s why we’re here.”

Sawyer starts to fuss, the cries welling up, and when Emma gets up to go grab her, Killian tugs her back to her, kissing her neck before whispering in her ear. “Darling, I suggest you don’t get up or everyone in this room is going to know more about me than even you know about me.”

She giggles, flat out giggles, before leaning back into his embrace and kissing his cheek. “Anna, can you bring her to me before she loses her mind?”

“Sure, hon,” Anna sighs, walking over to her and handing her Sawyer, who almost immediately calms down even if Emma can see her bottom lip trembling. She’s tired, exhausted probably, and she really needs to put her to bed. “Is she hungry?”

“Tired. She’s usually asleep right now. You want to go to bed, baby?”

“I can take her,” Killian says behind her, and she raises her brow before glancing down at his lap. He shrugs, just the smallest of things, and she nods her head. Their silent communication has gotten a lot better recently, and it’s kind of nice to have someone who can understand her even when she’s not speaking. “And that way you can enjoy everyone even if Ruby’s being obnoxious over needing to go to a bar.”

“You are new here, Jones. Watch yourself.”

“I have been here for over a year, Lucas,” Killian grits out, and she wonders why he’s getting frustrated with Ruby when he usually loves spending time with all of them. Maybe tonight just isn’t everybody’s night. “I’m going to go put Sawyer to bed.”

Emma gets up from his lap and Killian quickly follows, taking Sawyer out of her arms and walking down the hall and out of the room. She’s got no idea what kind of switch just flipped in him, but she knows that they’ll have to talk about it later. She’s not necessarily looking forward to talking through what he him angry, but she’d rather do it than let him get all dark and broody.

She hates when he’s dark and broody.

“Ruby,” she sighs, tearing her eyes away from the hallway to look over at Ruby, “you have to be nice.”  
  
“He’s a grown man. He can take some teasing.”  
  
“We all can, but that doesn’t mean everyone’s always in the mood for it.”

“What did I even say?”

“You said – you know what? It doesn’t even matter. Does anyone want something else to eat or drink? Anna why don’t you find something for us to watch?”

“Sure, Ems. I’ll find something.”

She rises from her chair and gets up to wander the few feet into the kitchen. This is really not how she wanted her night to go. Everyone had insisted that she do something, and she only agreed because she thought it would be perfectly fine for everyone to spend the night at home just relaxing. No, it’s not going out to a bar or to a concert, but that doesn’t make how she’s choosing to spend her day inherently bad. She should be able to do whatever the hell she wants, but apparently everyone’s going to be in a pissy mood.

She’s already got one baby. She doesn’t need others.

Grabbing a glass out of the cabinet, she fills it with wine. She’ll pump and dump or whatever, but she honestly needs something to relieve some of the tension she suddenly feels. And she really needs some time alone to try to lessen the irritation that’s spreading across her skin in the form of heated goosebumps. So of course that means Graham followed her in here while she hears everyone else arguing about what to watch a few feet away.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, taking a sip of her drink and settling her back against the counter so the granite digs into her skin, “I think it might be time for me to go to bed too. You think everyone will be okay having my birthday party without me?”

“Well, I think it would be quite the sad party without the guest of honor.”

She motions out at the living room. “It’s sad now.”  
  
He flashes her a grin. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Ruby hates everything, and I have zero idea what’s up with that. Anna is about to go into overdrive trying to make things positive, especially with Kris coming over soon, you and Rob are just kind of…watching all of the craziness unfold, and Killian is pissed off for some reason. And him being pissed off probably means that Sawyer is not going to go down easily because it’s like she has this sixth sense and mimics our emotions.”

“I’m sorry, but if it makes you feel better, I don’t hear any crying. I think Killian’s got a pretty good handle at the dad thing.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighs, letting her eyes flutter closes again, trying to think herself down only to realize what exactly Graham just said. It’s not the first time that something like this has happened, and she’s learned that it’s simply easier to not try to correct people. She’s just a little confused as to why Graham thinks this when…oh. Well, it’s not like she’s exactly told a lot of people how exactly Sawyer was conceived. It’s none of their business, and only Killian knows. But she kind of thought everyone knew she and Killian were a new thing. There’s no way in hell he’d be able to be the father of her child, even if she swears Sawyer looks more like Killian than her.

It’s really weird.

“Why don’t you go try to be the voice of reason in there? I think I’m going to check to make sure that Sawyer is okay.”

She nods to Graham before putting her glass down, realizing she’s only taken the tiniest sip, and this night really, truly isn’t going to plan. Maybe she will just go sit in the nursery and fall asleep in the rocking chair to avoid everyone. She wants to avoid everyone.

When she walks in the room, she closes the door as silently as she can behind her only to be stopped in her tracks at the sight in front of her. Killian’s sitting in the rocking chair fast asleep with a wide awake Sawyer curled up on his chest. She gurgles when she sees Emma, and Killian practically jumps out of the seat, his eyes blowing wide while his arms squeeze around Sawyer, startling her.

“Hey, hey, hey,” she soothes, stepping closer to them and taking Sawyer out of Killian’s arms so she can walk her around the room, “it’s just momma. There’s nothing to be scared about. It’s just momma. Yeah, it’s just momma.”

“I’m sorry, Swan. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I sat down to rock her and it just…it happened.”  
  
“It’s fine,” she promises, whispering soothing words in Sawyer’s ears before she puts her down in the crib, her eyelids heavy as they start to close. She’s got to be exhausted. “You want to tell me what’s up with you?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Killian.” She walks over to him and settles herself into his lap again, figuring that his erection has likely gone away by now, and she assumes they’re about to have a talk anyways. “You’re not supposed to lie to me. Same team, remember?”

“Aye, same team,” he sighs, leaning forward and softly brushing his lips over hers. He tastes like the cake, and that’s definitely not the only reason that she dips back in to kiss him one more time before she’s staring at the blue eyes that she’s really come to love. How could she not? “I guess…bloody hell, I don’t know. I didn’t love that Ruby basically told me that I don’t belong after pretty much bashing your choice of how to spend your birthday all night. It all rubbed me the wrong way.”

“Me too.” She reaches up and cups his cheeks, running her palms from his temple to his jaw and making sure that he looks at her when she speaks. He needs to hear this. “You belong, Killian. You are my best friend out of anyone on this planet, and you being in my life for the shortest amount of time changes absolutely nothing. I love you.”

And she says it. Just like that. There’s no hesitation, no weariness. It just…happens. She wasn’t even sure that she felt that way earlier today, but apparently she does. She definitely does. She loves him. Oh damn, she loves him.

She hears Killian giggle, actually giggle, and it’s what gets her to actually look back at him and to look at the way that he’s got water in his eyes, only making them bluer. How is that possible too?

“I love you,” he says on a soft breath, his lips close enough to hers that they actually touch with each breath. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He kisses her with each uttering of the phrase, and she actually feels her heart rearrange itself in her chest. How in the world has she found someone who loves her, who wants her, who lets her be just who she is without reservations? The anger that was spreading across her skin earlier is replaced by goosebumps of the best kind, and she’s got just this…she’s happy.

“So happy birthday to me, I guess?”

“Happy birthday, my love.”

 

* * *

 

“Killian,” she giggles, moving her body as far away from his as she can with the way that he’s got his arms wrapped around her back, pulling her closer to him even as she squirms. “Killian, I’m serious. I need to get up and get ready for work before she gets up.”

“I’ll take care of her,” he promises, trailing his lips over her shoulder and against her collarbone in a way that he freaking knows makes her shiver and lose her mind. He’s doing it on purpose. He’s teasing her, and she’s going to be late for work. With the way she feels right now, she almost wants to give into him. Almost. “Because you have been gone at that blasted conference for a week, and I _missed_  you.”

“You missed having sex with me.”

He raises a brow, the most incredulous look on his face, and all she can do is bury her head in his chest, rubbing her face into the soft hair that resides there. “I mean, obviously I did, but I did miss you for other reasons.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You should,” he sighs, rolling them over in bed until she’s resting on top of his chest with her head propped up on her crossed arms, “because I missed getting to see this gorgeous face in the mornings, especially when your hair looks like it does right now. I missed getting into arguments with you over what we want to eat or who’s going to do the dishes. I missed being lazy with you. And I definitely missed you when I was putting my best girl to bed. Bath time was rough without mummy.”

“These are all weird things to miss.”  
  
“You caught me on short notice. I had a whole list, but I don’t think it really matters since you’re now here, safe and sound from New York.”

“This is true.” She dips her head and presses her lips on Killian’s chest, right where she can hear his heart beating. “I missed you too. Thank you so much for watching Sawyer for that long. I know it’s not exactly on the list of boyfriend responsibilities.”

“Hey now,” he sighs, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears and resting his palm there so that she tilts her head to the side and brushes a gentle kiss on the skin, “that is something I will never complain about. You have a daughter, love, and that’s a part of you. I knew that from the beginning, and even if I didn’t, it wouldn’t be a problem. I love Sawyer just as much as I love you, if not more.”  
  
“How was that sweet and insulting all at once?”  
  
“I’m a man of many talents.”

“That you are.” She leans down to brush a kiss against his chest again before she rolls off of him, ignoring the erection that was pressing against her thigh. “I’ve got to go get ready for work, but I don’t think I’d object to you making breakfast. Just keep the monitor with you, okay?”  
  
“I’m not an amateur.”

“Eh, that’s debatable.”

“Is it now?”

“I mean,” she sighs, shrugging her shoulders as she stands at the end of the bed, “I can think of a few things you can work on.”

He raises both of his eyebrows at that, and she already knows that he’s going to protest whatever she says. She could say that he’s bad at astrophysics – and he is – but he’d say he was good. “Would you care to enlighten me, my darling?”

“I mean, I was just thinking that maybe later we could work on some of your hand skills. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with them. I’m just saying that I won’t fight you if you want to practice.”

She takes a step away to go to take a shower, but before she makes it there’s a hand grasped around her knee that’s pulling her back into bed with a thud, her head hitting against the mattress while her arms hits out over Killian’s stomach as he laughs next to her.

“How are you an adult who teaches people for a living?”

“Well I graduated from secondary school, then I went to University at Oxford and then I came here to – ”

“Wait,” she stops him, twisting her body so that she can look him in the eyes, “you went to Oxford? How did I not know that? I really feel like that’s something I should know.”

She sees the blush rise on his cheeks, and she can’t quite figure out why. So she reaches up to caress his face, running her hand over his scruff to coax his gaze back to her. She should really be getting ready for work, but it’s probably okay if she skips doing her hair or makeup today.

“I mean, probably, but there are bound to be lots of things we don’t know about each other still. Where I went to university isn’t that important.”

“Yeah, but we know the important things, I think. One day, though, I want to hear about all of these little details that I don’t know, okay?”

“Only if you share the same with me.”

“I’m not nearly as interesting. I’m not an Oxford man like you.”

“No offense, love, but if you were, I don’t think you’d quite be my type.”

She leans forward and quickly pecks his lips. “That’s what you think. Breakfast, baby, and then I’ll do something for dinner since Liam and Loren are coming into town today and I’m sure you’ll be busy obsessively cleaning your guest room.”  
  
“You don’t know that.”

“I might not know you went to Oxford, but I know you, Killian Jones.”

 

* * *

 

Killian texted her that Liam and Loren arrived around lunch and that he’d have Sawyer over with them all day, so instead of going to her apartment, she walks across the hall and pulls out her key for Killian’s place, opening the door to hear loud chatter and laughter that stops the moment she walks in. She sees Liam first, the lightness of his eyes reaching hers as she takes in the broadness of his shoulders and the curl in his hair. Killian definitely doesn’t have that curl, but even if she didn’t know they were brothers and hadn’t seen pictures of him before, she’d know just looking at him. Loren is next to him, her red hair pulled up into a ponytail, and she’s got a kind smile on her face that allows Emma to relax the slightest bit.

“Um, hi,” she greets, awkwardly waving her hand and walking further into the room to place the food on the kitchen counters, shedding her sweater. “You must be Loren and Liam. I’m Emma.”

“Hello, love,” Liam says first, getting up from the couch and walking toward her, his hand stretching out in front of her until she takes it. “It’s nice to meet you. Killian is in the bedroom changing your daughter since I’m sure you were wondering.”

“I was, yeah,” she laughs, releasing his hand and wiping her hands down until she has to shake Loren’s hand too. “Did you guys have a good flight?”

“It was long,” Loren groans, throwing her head back even as she smiles, “and the jet lag is a killer right now. Killian’s been keeping us entertained. Your daughter is adorable by the way. I hope it’s okay that we got to spend some time with her today.”

“Oh, of course. She usually goes to nursery, but with Killian not working, he offered to take her while he was on break. And he’s much better with her than anyone else.”

Loren gives her a kind smile while Liam gives her a colder one, and even when she’s been the only person in this apartment, it’s never felt quite this quiet. Meeting new people is always so awkward, but it’d probably help if Killian was out here right now. With her child. She wants to see her child.

“So I wasn’t really sure what you guys like,” she begins, needing something to do with her hands as she unpacks the food out of the counter, “but I figured no one can say no to breakfast for dinner. There’s a diner around the corner that is absolutely delicious, and they’re having all of these yummy holiday themed foods right now. There’s this crepe in here that I swear to you tastes like hot chocolate. I got it for me, but I’d be happy to share.”

“That sounds delicious, Emma,” Loren promises, helping to unpack the boxes. “It smells good too. Don’t you think, sweetie?”

“It does. Thanks for getting us dinner.”

She waves them away, a little more ease setting into her shoulders now that she has something to talk about with them. It’s been awhile since she’s had to get to know someone new that’s not been in a work capacity, and meeting her boyfriend’s brother, well, that’s kind of terrifying. And maybe Liam just isn’t a naturally friendly and outgoing person. Killian loves him probably more than anything in this world, but they’ve known each other for their entire lives. She’s known him for ten minutes. Of course it’s not going to be the same.

She’s just setting out her crepe and the omelet she knows that Killian likes when he walks out of his bedroom with Sawyer dressed in a pair of her pajamas, her hair very obviously freshly washed. He must have gone ahead and given her a bath.

“Hey,” she smiles, dropping the food and walking over to them, pressing up on her toes to kiss Killian’s cheek before she takes Sawyer out of his arms, smattering kisses all over her face until she’s a giggling mess. “Hey, my baby girl. Oh I missed you today. Did you have a good time with Killian and his family? Did you?” Sawyer coos back something that resembles mama but that’s not quite there yet, and she presses one more kiss to her temple before she looks up at Killian. “When was the last time she ate?”

“About three hours ago.”

“Okay, I’ll feed her after we eat.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” He dips his head until his lips are slanting over hers in a slow kiss that seemingly goes on forever until there’s a cough behind them. “Hush, you wanker. Emma, darling, have you meet my charming brother and his wonderful wife?”

“I have. They’re very nice and are super excited about having breakfast for dinner.”

“From the – ”

“Yep.”

They all settle down in front of the television to eat, and things are much easier with Killian around. Conversation flows more smoothly, the laughter she heard when she first walked in comes back, and Sawyer totally eats up all of the attention she’s getting as well as reveling in the different Christmas lights that Killian has in his apartment. They’d decorated her place together, pulling out old decorations and going out to buy new ones, and even though Killian said there was no need for him to do his apartment since he’d probably spend a lot of the holiday season with she and Sawyer, she’d still made him decorate. It’s not much, just a few multi-colored lights strung around the windows as well as a small tree that sits on his coffee table, but at least it’s something. At least he’s not the Grinch.

She really likes Liam and Loren, even if their names go together a little too well for her taste, but what she mostly likes is how happy they make Killian. It’s odd to be in a room with him and be the only person without an accent or to not know a lot of the inside jokes, but watching him laugh, the way he throws his head back against the couch and water falls from his eyes, well, she could watch that all day. She really could. She loves him, and she wants him to be happy all the damn time.

Around eight Loren calls it a night, claiming that she can’t make it any longer, and as she walks to the guest room, suddenly Emma realizes just how much Sawyer needs to go to bed in her crib. She’s asleep on Killian’s shoulder right now, likely drooling up a storm, but Emma hasn’t said anything because she’s selfish and likes the way that Killian’s free hand is running up and down her inner thigh in a movement that she knows is unconscious. He’s not trying to stir her up or start something. It’s simply how his hand falls, and as much as she would like some alone time with him to make good on their conversation from this morning, she really kind of wants to go to sleep. But not for a little while at least.

“I’m going to take her to bed,” he whispers in her ear, scruff brushing against her skin as the warmth of his breath washes over her.

“Okay,” she sighs, getting up with him so she can kiss the crown of Sawyer’s head. “Goodnight, baby. I’ll see you in less time than either of us want.”

Killian chuckles under his breath before he’s walking out of the apartment, the door closing behind him at the same time that plates are clanking together from where she’s cleaning up dinner. Liam joins her in the kitchen not a moment later.

“So what exactly is your plan here?” Liam spits, tossing a dish in the sink while the smile that was on his face a moment ago disappears into a scowl. She feels cornered all of the sudden, and every instinct she has stands on high alert. Why the hell does he look so angry? What just changed?

“What are you talking about?”

Liam scoffs, and her skin heats in response, cheeks likely tinted in red as bright as the ornaments on the miniature tree. What the hell is happening? “I’m talking about with my brother. What are you doing here? Getting him involved with you and your daughter.”

“We’re dating. We’re adults who are dating, and I just so happen to have a kid. It happens every damn day.”

“Yeah, but my brother seems to be convinced that your child is his.”

“I’m sorry…what?”

“You went to a sperm bank right? That’s how you got pregnant.”

“Not that it’s any of your business but yes.”

“Exactly, and Killian’s gone and convinced himself that he was your donor because he apparently donated sperm years ago to the same bank you used. And now he’s walking around thinking he’s a father while he’s not, and you have every bit of power to rip this child away from him because he has no legal right to her.”

“You’re crazy,” she scoffs, disbelief running through her as she steadies her shaking limbs on the countertop behind her. “You are actually crazy. Sawyer is my daughter. Mine. I love Killian, and I know that he loves us but…but he doesn’t think she’s his biological daughter. That would be crazy, and Killian is not crazy.”

“And yet I am?”

“Yes! You’re spewing all of these lies at me! And for what? To drive a wedge between me and Killian? That’s insane. He’s happy. I’m happy. Why would you try to change that?”

“I’m trying to protect him.”

“No, you’re being an asshole.” She gains the strength in her legs to move again, and she quickly walks out of the kitchen, dodging Liam to leave Killian’s apartment and run back over to hers where Killian was going to put Sawyer in her crib.

Liam is crazy. He’s crazy. He has to be. Why would he say these things? Why would he corner her like that? Why does he say that Killian thinks he’s Sawyer’s father? He can’t be. He can’t. Even if he really did donate sperm…he can’t be.

Can he?

No, the odds are too low. It’s not possible, and he would have told her. He wouldn’t have kept this from her or lied to her for this long. Sawyer is almost nine months old. He just wouldn’t have. He loves her, and he wouldn’t keep something like this from her.

Would he?

Would he lie to her like this?

Her body is buzzing with a nervous energy, one that makes her continue to shake, and she struggles to get her front door open with the way her head is pounding, her heart thrumming with it. She could vomit. She might actually vomit all over her living room floor and the Christmas tree that’s full of presents now. Covering her mouth with her hand and ignoring the way her stomach rolls, she walks down the hall to the nursery to find Sawyer fast asleep and Killian straightening up the changing table.

It’s so natural for him to be in here. It’s just like he fits, but right now she feels like she’s having the rug ripped out from under her, having her life ripped out from under her.

“Do you think you’re Sawyer’s father?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to flail/yell/scream/sigh/do whatever here or over on Tumblr at let-it-raines!


	3. Chapter Three

“Do you think you’re Sawyer’s father?”

He drops the pair of socks he was folding at the sound of Emma’s voice behind him. She’s frantic, her voice strained and full of emotion, and he can’t move. He simply can’t. Emotion is lodged in his throat only to be pushed out or pushed down by shock. He really doesn’t know because Emma just asked him the one question he hoped that she would never asked him.

She also asked the one question he always hoped that she would.

But now that the words are out, that she’s said them, he can’t deny his thoughts. He can’t deny how he feels. He’s thought he was crazy for nine months. Nine entire months of thinking that luck or God or just _something_   had blessed him with this crazy coincidence of Emma choosing him even before she chose him, even before she knew him. He knows that Sawyer is his daughter. He does. He knows that the darkness of her hair and the blue of her eyes comes from him. He knows that she has his nose and his dimples. He knows that when he looks at her, just like when he looks at Emma, all he feels his love. He loves them both so damn much, and it wouldn’t matter if he thought Sawyer was his or not. He’d love them both all the same.

It’s one of the reasons besides his fear of Emma’s reaction and his inability to find the words that he’s never said anything. He’s fine living like this. He’s fine getting to spend time with both of his loves. Yeah, sometimes he wishes that Emma knew so that maybe he could take on a bigger role, so that maybe one day Sawyer would call him dad, but he’s never wanted to take anything away from Emma. Being a single mother has been such a big thing for her. This is her child, and just because he thinks all of this, just because he might actually be biologically related to Sawyer, it doesn’t mean that he has any right to her. He donated sperm for money years ago. He didn’t actively plan and try for a child with Emma. He has had no part of it. It was all Emma. He knows that Emma’s comfortable raising Sawyer on her own now, even though she allows him to help, and he knows that she has walls and issues that she’s allowed him to gradually take down like she’s done with him. Telling her that he thinks he’s actually the father to her child, well, he knows that it would fuck absolutely everything up.

With the tone of Emma’s voice right now, though, he knows that he’s likely done that from not saying anything. He can somehow already feel Emma retreating, already feel her backing away from him and from their relationship, and even though he doesn’t know what made her ask this, from the way she asks…he knows that he should have never hidden anything from her. Not like this.

How does someone even find the words for something as outlandish as this?

He’s royally mucked up, and it’s why he has to brace himself for the fallout that’s about to crash down around him.

He deserves it too. He’s lied to her, and it hasn’t been about something like what he had for lunch. It’s been about something so much bigger.

“Aye,” he says softly, tensing his shoulders and turning around to face her. She looks furious and ethereal and every thought he’s every had about her with the set of her mouth and the fire in her emerald eyes, blonde hair falling over her shoulders and down her back while her chest heaves. “I do.”

“Are you fucking insane?”

He nods his head toward the crib, toward where Sawyer is sleeping. “Do you think maybe we should not have this conversation in here?”

“No, we’re having it right here, right now,” she whispers, and the quietness almost makes her tone more terrifying. No, it definitely makes the tone more terrifying. “How long have you been lying to me?”

“Emma – ”

“How long, Killian? How long have I been letting you into my life, into _our_  lives, while you’ve been hoarding away this secret? This crazy, preposterous secret that you could somehow be _my_  daughter’s father?”

Her words sting, but he knows that he deserves them. They’re not supposed to keep secrets from each other. That’s what they said one night after spilling far too much about the depths of their hearts than any two people should in one night, and yet he still hoarded this one away in the depths of his heart.

He’s screwed up. He’s screwed up. He’s screwed up.

“Since the day she was born.”

Emma practically stumbles backward, her feet failing her, and the width of her eyes slant into a green so dark that he almost doesn’t recognize it, doesn’t recognize her. “So what? Everything you’ve been doing, you’ve only been doing out of some weird obligation? You’ve convinced yourself that of all of the men in the world who have donated sperm, I somehow picked yours? Do you even love me? Do you even love her? Or is at all only because you think she’s actually related to you? Would you even care otherwise?”

“Emma, no. I love you. I love Sawyer. I don’t care about any of that. I promise. I would love you no matter what. Yes, I do think you picked me. I do think you chose me, and that it’s been one of the absolute weirdest coincidences that we found each other. Everything you’ve told me about your donor, that matches up with me, with my life. Every bit of it.”

“She’s not your daughter.”

“Love – ”

“She’s not,” Emma sobs, covering her mouth with her hands as her shoulders shake, and all he wants to do is hold her. He knows that she won’t let him. He knows her well enough to know that. “She’s not your daughter. She _can’t_  be your daughter, and I don’t think I can be with someone who’s been lying to me like this, who is thinking crazy things like this.”

“Please,” he begs, the emotion that he thought left from his throat coming back strong, making it difficult for him to breathe, “please don’t do this. Please think about this. Please let me talk, let me explain.”

“I can’t. I can’t do this. It’s too much, and I need you to go.”

“Emma.”

“Please go.”

“Darling.”

“Go,” she shouts, the volume loud enough that Sawyer begins to cry. Instinctively he takes a step toward her only for Emma to block him, staring him down until he backs away. “Get out.”

He nods his head before he does just that, letting his feet guide him out of the room even while everything around him seems to blur, his vision becoming murky with the tears that sting in his eyes that are only worsened by the shine of the Christmas lights moving off of Emma’s tree, wrapped presents resting underneath it. Staring at it makes the nausea come to him, and he has to quickly leave the apartment even if he knows that he might never get to go back. He might never get to see them again all because he wasn’t honest about his suspicions. He should have been honest.

How the hell was he supposed to be honest?

The nausea is almost unbearable by the time he gets into his apartment, his hands shaking as he turns the knob on his front door, and he barely makes it to the kitchen counter before he has to support himself on something, resting his head against the sweater that’s resting on the marble.

It’s Emma’s sweater, and he can smell her perfume on it. It’s her favorite one actually, and he nearly loses it thinking of how much of Emma he has in this place. It had taken so long for him to feel ready to let himself love again after being hurt, to want to take the risk, but he knows that this time, he’s the one who messed up. He’s not the one who’s walking in on his life being changed. He’s the one who’s causing everything to change.

“Why do you look like you’ve been hit by a bloody train?”

His eyes snap up to Liam who’s standing across the island from him, his clothes from earlier gone as he’s now dressed in a pair of flannel pajamas and a long sleeves t-shirt. It’s when everything suddenly clicks in his mind, like the gears have all matched up for everything to make sense, and he knows exactly how Emma found out he thinks that he’s Sawyer’s father. He’s only told one person, the person who he trusted most outside of Emma, and it was in a night of weakness when his mind wouldn’t turn off, when he needed to get his thoughts out of his mind for one moment. He’s an asshole for not saying anything to Emma, but Liam’s so much worse for betraying his trust like that.

At least, he’s worse to him right now. He’s thinking that Emma thinks he’s a bloody monster. She likely thinks his entire family is made up of bloody monsters.

“Why the fuck would you tell Emma about me thinking I’m Sawyer’s father?”

“I – ”

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” he shouts, his skin heating in anger while he straightens his back, standing up to his full height while his hands grip into Emma’s sweater, the softness calming him so that he doesn’t absolutely lose himself here. “You are the only person who knows I think that, and unless you told Loren and she decided to be a manipulative prick, I’m guessing you decided to share a secret that wasn’t yours to share with the woman I love.”

Liam’s calm as he crosses his arms over his chest, his shoulders broadening instead of shrinking, and it only increases Killian’s anger. He’s always done that when he’s trying to subtly let Killian he’s in charge, and it’s not going to work now. “Because there’s no way that child is yours, Killian. You’re letting yourself fall for a woman and a child who are never going to let you be their family. It’s going to be like Milah again or Hannah or even Tina, but I know that this time it’s going to be worse because of the child. I’m guessing she just blew up on you in there, that she doesn’t trust you, and it’s better to know these things now than learn them when you’re in too deep. I’m simply trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes while his heartbeat seems to sound between his ears, a drumline amplified. “You just fucked up my life. I’m thirty-four years old, Liam. I’m not sixteen. Yes, I’ve screwed up in the past, but that doesn’t mean you know best. You’re not some all-knowing being. You’re just a man who thinks that he’s smarter than he is.”

“You’re upset with Emma. You’re not upset with me.”

“I’m upset _about_  Emma. I’m _furious_  at you. I’ve let you do a lot of shit in my life because I trust you and I love you, but you just betrayed that trust and made me lose the two best things that have ever happened to me outside of our family. I love _her_. I love Emma, I love Sawyer, and I may never get to talk to them again because you couldn’t keep your mouth closed for long enough for me to figure my own shit out.”

“Little brother – ”

“It’s younger,” he huffs, unclenching his fists from Emma’s sweater so he can wipe away the tears on his cheeks. “It’s fucking younger. You and Loren can stay here tonight because it’s late and I’m not a monster, but I want you gone in the morning. Happy Christmas.”

 

* * *

 

“Do you see this?” Roland squeals, running up to Killian with his bike, pushing it through the apartment before Killian can even get the front door closed behind him. “Santa brought me a new bike.”

“That’s awesome,” he laughs, squatting down to Roland’s level and admiring the bike with him. “Are these racing stripes? In your favorite color? How did Santa know?”

“I don’t know. He just does. He’s magic.”

“He is. He even got your name on it.”

“Yep. The elves probably did that.” Roland looks over to him and the box he’s holding. “Is that for me?”

“It is indeed.”

“Can I open it?”

“Roland,” Robin scolds, walking out of the kitchen archway to wiping off his t-shirt, legs still covered in pajama pants, “you need to be patient. We’re going to eat breakfast, and then you can open your present from Killian and your stuff from me. For now, why don’t you go put your bike back in the living room?”

“Okay,” Roland shrugs, already wheeling the bike away. “How long until breakfast?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Cool. I’m going to set up my Legos.”

He chuckles under his breath before following Robin into the kitchen, immediately settling down at the table while the smell of bacon fills his nostrils. He swears there’s some cinnamon somewhere too, but he doesn’t really trust a lot of his senses after the past four days.

“Happy Christmas, mate.”

“Yeah, Happy Christmas.”

“So you’re cosplaying at the Grinch this year then?”

He twists his head to look at Robin who’s cutting up apples into slices and not at all looking at Killian to see his reaction. He probably can see it without even looking. Dad powers or something. “I’m kind of having a shitty week.”  
  
“Aye, I know. Your girlfriend broke up with you, and you got into a fight with your brother who took an early flight back home, so even if you felt like forgiving him so you could spend Christmas together, you can’t.”

“Pretty much, yeah. No offense, mate, but I didn’t imagine spending the day with the two of you. I thought I’d get to spend it with my brother, Emma, my da – I thought I’d get to spend it with my family.”

“You’re Uncle Killian. You’re family here too. I just…hell, Killian, do you really think that Sawyer is your biological daughter?”

“She picked me,” he sighs, getting up from his chair to walk over to the kitchen and pour himself a cup of coffee. He’s so exhausted, physically and emotionally, and he needs coffee. “The donor she picked was _me_ , Rob. What are the odds of that? What are the odds that I’d fall in love with this incredible woman and I’d happen to be the father of her child?”  
  
“Are you sure, though?”

“I mean, yeah,” he laughs, the craziness of what he’s saying beginning to sink in while the coffee burns his tongue and his throat, the feeling somehow comfortable when it shouldn’t be. “But it doesn’t matter to me. That’s the thing. It doesn’t matter to me if she really is mine biologically. I love her, and I’d love her regardless. It’s the same with Emma. I love them both no matter what. I just…I fucked up with this. I should have told Emma sooner. I shouldn’t have kept it from her.”  
  
“Why did you?”

“A part of me says that it’s because I know that none of it matters. Another part of me says that it’s because I couldn’t find the words and I knew it would freak Emma out, that there was no point because even if it’s true, she’d think I was crazy. Sawyer is her child who she conceived and carried and is raising alone, and I would never try to take her away from Emma. Never. Hell, I don’t have a legal right, and even if I did, I wouldn’t try. No matter what. But she’s not going to see it that way. She doesn’t see it that way, and now I’m missing Christmas with them…I’m missing life with them.”  
  
Robin sighs, sprinkling the cinnamon he smelt earlier over the apples before popping them in the oven. “Have you tried talking to her?”

“Yeah. She won’t answer my texts, my calls, and she sure as hell won’t answer the door.”

“I’m sorry, man.” Robin walks over to him and wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for an embrace that he so desperately needed, some of the weight on his shoulders lifting the slightest bit. “I’m sorry that Liam messed up, that you did too, but I know you and Emma. It might take some time, but you’re going to work things out.”

“I don’t know…I don’t know how to fix this one. I don’t even think time will.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes,” Roland announces, skidding into the room with his bike helmet latched over the mess of curls on his head. “Let’s eat, so I can open my presents.”

 

* * *

 

The New Year comes in with a bang, literally, as he can hear cheers outside of his living room windows and fireworks outside despite the fact that fireworks are illegal here. He doesn’t go out to celebrate, his moping reaching new heights. Instead he sits at home watching television, avoiding all of the shows that he watches with Emma, and drinks a glass or two (or three) of rum, letting the spice soothe him as he watches the ball drop on television. He knows that there are texts from his friends, a few colleagues, even Liam and Loren wishing him a happy New Year, but he honestly…he just doesn’t care.

Especially about the ones from Liam.

And even though he doesn’t believe any of the crap about new calendar years meaning new chances at life, starting over, and getting to be a brand new person, he does wish that maybe he will get some new chances at life. He wishes that he’ll get a chance to talk to Emma again, to get to read Sawyer another story at night when she’s about to go to bed, and he wishes that maybe he won’t be so pissed at his self-righteous brother who he misses despite everything. He lost his two best friends in one day, and it’s hitting him harder than he expected. He simply wishes that he were able to make up for everything that’s happened in the past two weeks.

But as the weeks go by and he starts a new semester of lecturing, loading up on even more classes than before because he wanted to save money for…future life decisions that will probably not be happening now, he realizes that maybe he’s not going to get new chances. Maybe he should stop holding out the little glimmer of hope that he has that things are going to get better. He still has a life without the three most important people he knows, but it’s definitely a little less bright. He spends more time with his colleagues than he usually does as well as spending a hell of a lot of time teaching Roland how to ride a bike or picking him up from school while Robin is at work. If anything, he can’t complain about getting to spend more time with Roland. It’s fascinating to get to see life through a child’s eyes. He gets so excited about everything, even when the snow starts falling despite the fact that it blocks the roads, and Killian thinks to himself that maybe he should try to think the way Roland does.

(It reminds him of how Sawyer will see things one day, and as much happiness as that brings him…he can’t.)

Of course, he knows that’s not possible. He knows too much. He knows too much heartache and heartbreak, and he’s aware of the realities of the world that Roland is blessed enough not to know. He hears all of the time about how childlike innocence is nothing but being ignorant, but he doesn’t believe that’s true. Childlike innocence is seeing the good in the world even when there’s only the slightest glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. It’s not about seeing the darkness. It’s about seeing the light.

So he tries to work and live with that philosophy throughout the month of January, even as the winter chill continues to bite him every time he walks out the door, sometimes even as he hides away inside, but then he sees Emma and Sawyer in the lobby of their building and it stops him in his tracks. Literally. He can’t move. His feet are glued to the tile, and he can’t move, can’t tear his eyes away from them.

Emma’s dressed in dark pants that reach up past her waist, a white sweater tucked into them to show of her slim frame, and her hair is pulled into a high ponytail on the top of her head that makes her seem even taller than she already is with the aid of the heels that he can see peeking out from under her trousers. She looks beautiful, stunning really, and she’s got Sawyer on her hip dressed in an outfit that he had bought her before she was born. It was an impulse buy, something he saw and figured Emma would need like one day for when Sawyer is a little bigger like she is now. It’s a blue jumper with ruffled sleeves, and Emma’s dressed her in a thermal shirt underneath to keep her warm in this weather. Her hair has grown quite a lot since he last saw her, the black lightening a bit as curls peek out around the back of her head, but it’s difficult to see under the floral headband Emma has her wearing.

When Emma turns around, she sees him. He knows that she does from the way her lips part, the red splitting apart, and from the way her eyes blow wide, green so much lighter than the last time he was able to look at them. Honestly, though, the worst part is the moment he realizes that Sawyer recognizes him. She squeals, giggling the slightest bit, and does absolutely everything she can to move out of Emma’s arms to try to get to him. He can physically feel the way his heart begins to malfunction in his chest, the pieces breaking even though it’s not possible, and the similar feeling of nausea comes back to him at the same time that tears sting behind his eyes.

He’s about to fall apart in the middle of this lobby, and it takes everything in him not to.

“Hi, Sawyer,” he whispers, waving his hand at her and taking a step forward until a glance from Emma makes him freeze again. “Swan, please. Let me talk to you. Or at least let me say hi to her.”

Her lips close, pressing into a firm line that he’s seen so many times and yet hates to see, before they open up again at the same time that her head nods up and down. “You can say hi to her for just a minute, but I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Emma – ”

“Please don’t push it. Just take what I’m giving you, okay?”

“Okay.”

He quickly walks over to the two of them and reaches out to grab Sawyer’s hands. He already knows that Emma is not going to let him hold her, so he doesn’t even try. He lets Sawyer grasp onto his hands as he moves them up and down as he talks to her as fast as he can, letting out watery chuckles every time she giggles or babbles. She’s saying Mama, and he knows that it’s probably just babbling, but he also knows that he’s likely missed Sawyer’s first word. And he wonders what else he’s missed, what else he’s going to miss. Those tears that were stinging behind his eyes come back in full force, and he doesn’t try to bother hiding them and holding them back while he enjoys the moment that he’s getting.

When he looks up at Emma, though, he sees a single tear running down her cheek, but before he can say anything, before he can try to convince her to talk to him, she’s making excuses about them needing to go, and he’s having to say goodbye to the two loves of his life.

For how long, he doesn’t know.

God, he fucked up.

 

* * *

 

“Dr. Jones.”

“Dr. Jones.”

“Dr. Jones.”

“Huh,” he gasps, startling up from his desk as one of his students stands at his office door. What’s her name? He’s pretty sure it starts with an A. Allison? Amanda? Autumn? He’s pretty sure it’s Amanda. He won’t say anything until he’s sure. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, rolling back in his chair and adjusting his shirt, straightening the buttons. “I seemed to have zoned out, and I didn’t hear you. Do you need something?”

“Um, yeah,” she sighs, flashing her a smile while he tries to pull himself together. “I was wondering if you would be willing to write me a recommendation letter for an internship I’m applying for at this publishing firm. It’s at Houghton, and I kind of figured a literature professor I’ve had for two semesters would be a good person to help out.”

“Of course,” he smiles, ignoring the guilt in his stomach from not recognizing her at first. The more he wakes up, though, he remembers her enough to know that he can write her a recommendation letter without completely fabricating it. “That sounds wonderful, Amanda. If you want to leave me the information for who and where to send it, I’ll start working on it today.”  
  
“Really, um, okay great.” She walks toward him and hands him two sheets of paper, placing them on his desk. “Thank you so, so much, Dr. Jones. I’m sorry that I woke you from your nap.”

“Ah,” he sighs, reaching up to scratch behind his ear, “that’s fine. It’s not just the lot of you who are always tired.”

“Well, you do give us a hell of a lot of reading.”

He barks out a laugh, feeling it rumble in his stomach. “Too true. Too true. Thanks for coming by. I’ll get this into you before the deadline. I’ll send you an email when it’s finished, okay?”

She nods her head. “Thank you. Have a good afternoon!”

“You too.”

Now that he’s awake and thoroughly embarrassed to be caught sleeping in his office – he’d been up late last night grading essays, red lines marking his vision as much as they marked the essays – he spends the rest of his time before his afternoon classes writing Amanda’s recommendation letter and answering emails. Classes have only been in session for a month and a half, February nearly almost over now, but they’re all really getting into the swing of things as spring approaches. He’s excited to be in a rhythm, to be back into his old rhythm really, but mostly he looks forward to the way that the weather is beginning to change, frigid temperatures warming into comfortable mornings that will allow him to get back into running in the mornings without having to layer up so as not to freeze to death.

It’s the light at the end of the tunnel, the one that he’s been trying to focus on, and he’s doing a little better at it than he was at first. Helping that is likely the fact that he’s talked with his brother. It’s been slow going, mostly encouraged by Loren with her texts about them both being stubborn assholes (but mostly Liam), and slowly but surely he’s started speaking to his brother again. He’s still upset at what Liam did and still upset that even though neither Liam nor Emma (he’d have to be talking to Emma to know these things) have told him the true story of what exactly transpired between the two of them, he knows that Liam must have said something to Emma besides his thoughts about thinking that he’s Sawyer’s father. He’s learning, though, that his brother isn’t perfect. He’s human, he has flaws, and he’s going to screw up. The same applies to himself. And he doesn’t want to live his life without his brother just because Liam decided to be a pompous ass one night out of some sense of protection.

It’s been a lot of arguing, a hell of a lot of screaming over the phone, and he believes that there’s been more cursing in the two weeks that they’ve been talking than there has been in all of their phone calls in their years of living across the ocean from each other. And even though he still wishes that none of this had happened, he’s learning to forgive his brother.

He’s learning. He’s not quite there yet. His brother betrayed his confidence, and everything is not as black and white as he wishes it was. He thinks they’ll be fine, but there’s always going to be the niggling thought about not being able to give Liam his complete trust. He can forgive him, but that doesn’t mean everything is okay.

It doesn’t change anything but how he gets to feel when he wakes up in the morning.

If he could get Emma to forgive him, though, that would…that would be everything. She may never fully trust him again, but he’d at least like the chance to earn it back. He might not deserve it, but if she were to give him the chance, he’d do everything he could.

When he finishes his lectures for the day, he packs up his backpack and makes his way home, pulling his sunglasses down over his face to shield his eyes from the sun. He almost feels hungover from how tired he is and the way the sunlight is bothering him, but the coffee he was drinking in his last lecture is beginning to thrum through his veins, the caffeine alleviating his headache if only for a little while. All he really wants is to be home and to resume his nap from this morning, but he needs to go to the market and get food. It’s got to have been at least three weeks since he bought groceries, and he really needs to stock up on the basics and stop spending money on takeout when he’s trying to save money. He doesn’t really have the need to save like he was, but he figures it honestly can’t hurt to save a little something for a rainy day. He could always get fired or something.

God, that would be the cherry on top to the last two months of his life.

He stops at the market around the corner from his apartment, getting everything he can carry and making a mental note of everything that he’ll need. He’s out of sugar weirdly enough. He’s not sure when the last time was that he was out of sugar. Isn’t there an old saying about borrowing sugar from your neighbor? He could do that, but the only neighbor who he wants to borrow sugar from is Emma.

And that’s not happening.

Or maybe it is because when he gets home she’s pacing back and forth down the hallway, her hair sticking up in several directions despite it being pulled back in a braid. What the hell is going on?

“Swan.”

Her head whips around faster than he knew a neck could turn. “Killian.”

She looks relieved to see him. Why in the world would Emma be relieved to see him? She must hate him. He’s sure that she hates him.

“Swan, what’s wrong?”

“I – I…oh shit. I locked myself out of the apartment. I was carrying in a box and…and you know what, it doesn’t matter. I’m locked out. Sawyer is inside, and I really, really need you to still have your spare key. Oh God,” she sobs, covering her mouth with her hands and looking at him as if she’s about to lose her legs from underneath her.

He drops all of his groceries, likely cracking his eggs, but none of the matters to him as he turns his backpack around and grabs his keyring, finding the one to Emma’s apartment that he never took off and unlocking the door even as his hands shakes and his stomach rolls in on itself. The moment he gets the door open, he steps back, letting Emma rush inside. He doesn’t know if he should follow or go on his way, but he can’t not know if Sawyer is alright. He has no idea how long she was in there alone, how long Emma’s been locked out, and he simply needs to know.

He doesn’t have to look far to find them. Emma’s sitting on the floor of her living room with Sawyer help tightly to her chest, Emma’s voice reaching his ears even as she whispers. Relief immediately washes over him only to be replaced by more apprehension over the situation he’s just walked into.

“Is she okay?”

Emma looks up at him, her eyes the brightest emerald he’s ever seen, before she’s nodding her head up and down. “Yeah, she’s okay. She’s crawling now, can stand a little bit if she’s got something to hold onto, so I was really worried she’d get into something she’s not supposed to get into. Or that she’d knock the bookshelf over or that a knife would somehow fall out of the kitchen drawers that she can’t even reach.”

“She’s crawling?”

“Yeah,” Emma sighs before she presses kisses all of Sawyer’s face, “she is. I have a video, if you want to see it. I missed the first time because of work, but I’ve got the second time. Or you could just see it in person.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I was going to…I wanted to talk to you, actually, was planning on it tonight when she was asleep, but then I became the worst mother in the world…and yeah.”  
  
“Hey,” he soothes, the tenseness in his shoulders easing as he boldly takes steps toward Emma and settles down next to her, reaching out his hand when Sawyer wants to come to him. He’s surprised that she recognizes him like this still even though he saw her three weeks ago. She doesn’t see him like she used to, but he guesses he made a big enough impression in those first few months. “You are not the worst mother in the world. You had an accident, and these damn doors are so fickle anyways. I guarantee that if I google something like this, there are a million stories exactly the same, and every one of those people have a child who’s okay just like this little one.”

“But what if she wasn’t?”

“But she is.” He nudges his shoulder into her before waggling his brows, knowing that it makes Emma laugh. And she does. She laughs, even if it’s a watery chuckle. It’s a good sound to hear. “Besides, whenever you get locked out of your apartment, good things seem to happen to me.”

“You still think meeting me is a good thing?”

Sawyer clasps her hands over his cheeks, and he pokes his lips out to peck her nose, making her giggle. God, he missed her laugh too. She’s so beautiful. “I still think meeting you is the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“Killian – ”

“Can I talk first?” he asks, tilting his head to look at her, their noses so close that he could probably kiss her nose too. Or at least kiss her. That would be pushing his luck too much. He’s somehow walked into an opportunity here, and he doesn’t want to screw this one up too.

Emma doesn’t say anything. She simply nods, and he takes this as his opportunity.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry that I…that I kept a secret from you. I’m sorry that I kept such a big secret from you. I don’t have a great reason. When I sit down and think about it…I don’t have a good way to explain it.”

“Can you try?”

Does she…is she…she almost looks hopeful. Does he have any right to feel hopeful?

“You’d just given birth, and neither of us had slept in awhile, and a nurse or two kept making comments about how Sawyer – ” Sawyer squeals at the sound of her name, and he and Emma both laugh at her as he starts bouncing her up and down in an attempt to entertain her while he gets this miraculous chance to talk to Emma. All of his food outside is going to spoil. He doesn’t even care. “ – they kept talking about how Sawyer looked like me, which was insane. It’s still insane, but it nagged at me. I knew there was no chance, but I asked you about your donor anyways…and while yeah, it could just be the freakiest coincidence in the world, the man you were describing, I’m that man. At least I think I’m that man. I had forgotten the I was once I donor, and I’m…I think I’m your donor.”

“I know.”

“What?” he whispers so quietly that he can barely hear the words himself.

“I know that you are. I’ve had a lot of time to think. I kind of…I shielded myself away from people. I shouldn’t have, but I did. And I had a lot of time to think. You do match every description. I went back and read the sheet. I had it on file or whatever, and there were so many more things that are just…you, which may very well be the craziest thing in the entire world.”  
  
“I agree with you on that.”

Emma presses her lips together in a soft smile, and he can see tears forming in her eyes. He can feel them in his own. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before when I was getting to know you, but to me, I was never worried about the donor. I was going to be a mom, and I was going to do it on my own.”

“And you’re doing a bloody fantastic job.”

“Today not withstanding,” she chuckles, reaching over to push Sawyer’s hair back, staring at her for a long time before she looks back up at him. “But I don’t – I thought about coming to talk to you so many times, but I was so hurt about you lying to me, about you betraying my trust like that, and even though I know you would never do this, I was terrified that you’d try to take her away from me even though you legally couldn’t. I see crazy stuff like that nearly every day, families falling apart, and I couldn’t risk that happening. I still can’t.”

“I’m not going to try to take her away from you. Ever. You of all people know that biology doesn’t give me any rights to her. I don’t intend to let you down.”

“Yeah, but don’t you see how I could think that maybe you would try? I see that happen all of the time for parents and couples who fall in love, get married, and then decide to have kids only for it to fall apart. You and me…we’ve done things all out of order. We didn’t plan for any of it. I mean, I did. You sure as hell didn’t, and a part of me kind of feels like maybe…maybe you only stayed with me and decided to date me because you felt some kind of obligation to me for Sawyer. There are just…there are so many things that I simply didn’t know, that I don’t know.”  
  
“First of all, Emma Swan, I fell in love with you far before this little girl was born. How could I not? It’s not every day that a woman throws up in your toilet, and I knew then that you were something special from the beginning.”

“Did you really? The love part. Not the vomiting.”

“Aye. It was the night you came and made me go searching for that blasted bride’s cake ice cream. I went to so many stores, and I realized that there was not a person in the world who I would do that for besides you. And I loved this little munchkin before I ever had an inkling that she may be mine. Emma, I don’t think I have the words to let you know just how much I love you, _both_  of you, and how much I would love you even if the situation wasn’t like it is. She’s your child no matter what, and I never want you to think again about how I could want to take her from you, to think that I only love you out of some kind of obligation. I love you both for you.”

He means it. He means every damn word and a million more. And as well as he thinks this is going, as relaxed as he’s become every with the way his heart is pounding in his chest, he knows that he still needs Emma to feel the same way. They were partners, and maybe they will be again. But he can’t do that without Emma feeling the same way.

“I love you too,” she sighs, and his heart nearly soars hearing the words. “All of this has been so hard because I do love you. And I’m sorry that you’ve missed so much. I’m sorry we got all screwed up. I don’t…I’m willing to try again, Killian. I think we have a lot to talk about, but I’m willing to try.”

He chuckles before looking at Sawyer, the blue of her eyes shining as she looks at him, hands sill messing with the material of his shirt. “My darling, can you close your eyes? I’m about to very indecently kiss your mum.”

“Oh my God,” Emma laughs, twisting her head from side to side until he places a hand on her cheek and guides her lips to his. They’re just as soft and warm as he remembers, but he doesn’t really care about any of that when Emma automatically opens her mouth to him, letting him flick his tongue out at her bottom lip and apply the smallest of pressures. Mostly he’s thankful to get to be connected to her again, to come together and expertly move against each other like they never stopped. He never wants to stop again. “If she could feel embarrassment, she would be mortified by us making out like that.”

“She’ll have to get used to it.”

“Hear that, baby, you’re going to be mortified by us.”

 

* * *

 

One conversation doesn’t fix everything. It never does. He hurt Emma, and she did the same to him in her reaction to his hurt, no matter how justified she was. Even if they both hate it, they can’t change it, but they can try to make amends, try to rebuild that trust. As much as he wants to dive back into things without abandon, he restrains himself and takes things as slowly as he can. He often has to remind himself that with he and Emma, everything has always been a gradual, natural build. Nothing about it has been rushed, and honestly, he thinks it’s that very thing that’s going to help them make this work.

There’s nothing he’s ever wanted to make work as much as he wants to make this work.

So there are baby steps for them (and none for Sawyer as of yet). They start with eating dinner again together. It’s not every night, but it nearly is. He starts cooking for more than him again, making the portions bigger, and Emma will come over to his apartment with Sawyer when she gets home from work. The things of Emma’s she left here, her sweaters and makeup and the occasional shoe – and really just the one at a time which he’s never even quite understood – start to multiply, the old being replaced by the new, but that’s nothing compared to the toys that scatter across his floor and the pureed food that fills his refrigerator and his shelves. As much as it bothers him to have his apartment all out of order, he’s learning to allow the mess.

He’s learning to love the mess.

It’s not as if he can tell an eleven-month old baby that her toys and her food are driving him into madness. When she’s older, well, that’s when he’ll teach her the wonder of organization. And maybe that’s when he’ll teach the same to her mother. The latter is less likely.

His life is his life again, but he likes this version so much better. Emma’s trusting in him, and that’s honestly more than he could have asked for. He screwed up in a lot of ways, and a part of him feels like he’s getting another chance at life. Emma didn’t have to accept him back into her life, their lives, in the way that she has. Forgiveness and love are powerful things he’s both gained and lost in his life, and he’s glad to have found them again.

“Should we have a birthday party for her?”  
  
“What now?”

“She’s turning one in three weeks,” Emma sighs, curling her legs up underneath her and tugging the comforter up to cover her waist, her entire body bundled in warm clothes despite the warming spring weather outside. “I think most people have first birthday parties with the smash cake and everything. I just…I don’t have any friends who are moms, so I don’t really – I don’t know what I should do.”

He puts his phone down on the bedside table after he finishes replying to a student’s email. They’re on spring break, and yet he’s still getting emails. These kids should really go out and have some fun. It’s not as if he assigned them work for over the break. “What do you want to do, love?”

“I think I might like for it to just be us. I don’t…you missed so much in those two months, and I kind of want it to be special, you know? She’s not going to remember it, but we are.”

“If that’s what you want to do, we should do it.”

“But what do you want?”

“Emma, darling, it’s your decision. If you want it to be just us, you should decide.”

Her lips form an “o” before they press together and she twists her body, turning her shoulder to him and her back so that all he can see is blonde of her hair falling down her shoulders over her sweater. He’s obviously said something wrong, so he moves over in the bed until he can touch her arm and gently nudge her back into looking at him.

“Hey,” he murmurs, making sure that his voice is low and soft, “what’s wrong?”

She sighs, her shoulders heaving, before she slaps her hands against the bed in what he assumes is frustration. It’s not even seven in the morning, and he’s already somehow messed up today. Or not necessarily messed up but…Emma is upset, and he doesn’t know why. “If we’re going to do this, this whole being together and being parents together, you have to make decisions too. You can’t let me make all of the decisions when maybe you have a different opinion. I want your opinion.”

He quirks a brow, confusion running through him. Is Emma Swan herself giving him permission to veto her decisions? Is this an alternate universe?

“Is that what we’re doing? Co-parenting?”

“I thought so.”

“Aye, I know, I know. I just – Emma, I know that she’s ours…technically…maybe…I don’t know how the hell to describe it, but I already told you, I don’t intend to step over all of your toes. Sawyer has always been yours, and I’m not sure how exactly I fit in here.”  
  
“What do you mean?” she asks reverently, reaching forward to cup his cheeks with her hands, the coolness that always seeps from her extremities invading him. “Killian, you’re her father. That’s – I’m not ready to change anything legally, but you’re her…you’re here for us. I trust you, I love you, and even though this is a weird situation, we’re still us.”

His heart stops for a moment, which cannot at all be healthy, before he nods his head up and down, letting all of that sink in. Their timing is all over the place, but maybe the conventional family thing is not going to be for them. Hell, he didn’t ever think that Emma would accept him as Sawyer’s father this soon, even if it’s rare that she says it. Then again, if he thinks about it, how can anything be soon when they’ve pretty much been together for nearly two years?

 “So I’m allowed to have a voice on the first birthday celebrations?”  
  
“You’re encouraged.”

“I think we should have it be just the three of us with a vanilla cake with buttercream icing. I think she’d like it if it was in the shape of an octopus, since she really likes her Ollie the octopus doll.”

“Ollie?”

“Yeah, that’s his name.”  
  
“Baby, you named the stuffed animal?”

He chuckles underneath his breath before dipping his head and gliding his lips over Emma’s, her softness making him feel content while his hands move up and down her shoulders, holding onto her muscles and the warmth that radiates from her. Warmth from everywhere but her hands and feet in the mornings. “He needed a name.”  
  
“I love you.”

“For naming a stuffed animal?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I love you too, but I apparently have a lot of stuffed animals to name if it makes you love me.”

They do end up having a first birthday party for Sawyer with just the three of them. He sends pictures to his friends and family, and Emma ends up having to facetime Anna halfway through because the woman absolutely insisted that she see Sawyer and her cake, but it’s just the three of them. And it’s perfect, he thinks. Sawyer has no idea what’s going on, but like Emma said, they do. And besides, they’re giving a one-year old icing for the first time. They could be at a funeral and Sawyer wouldn’t care.

That’s a bit morbid, but it’s true.

And Sawyer absolutely loves it, very meticulously trying to eat the cake at first, something which he knows she gets from him, but once she’s had a taste, she absolutely smashes the cake into her face, covering her mouth with purple and blue icing. That…that she definitely gets from Emma. He has no doubt.

He barks out a laugh the more she does it, and Emma does the same, the video she was taking surely filed with the sound of their laughter, and when he looks over at Emma, she’s got tears running down her cheeks from how much she’s laughing. She looks so happy, and it fills him with a lightness he wants to feel forever.

“Oh, baby,” she laughs before going to get Sawyer out of her high chair, “you are a mess, and your daddy is going to be so upset if you get icing on any of the furniture.”

Every part of him stops functioning for a moment. His organs might even stop for a moment, but then everything is roaring back to life as he watches Emma move Sawyer over to the sink so she can wash her off. He can’t stop staring at them, can’t stop thinking about the slip of the tongue that just happened. He’s always hoped that maybe one day they’d get there, but he never assumed it would be this soon even with all that’s happened. He never assumed it would happen at all. He’s learned not to assume things. Maybe Emma’s not ready for that. Maybe it really was just a slip. Still. She said it.

There’s a difference between Emma accepting him as Sawyer’s father and her accepting him as an actual dad when she has no obligation to do that. She’s never once referred to him as Sawyer’s daddy, and he wants to replay the moment over again and again to make sure he hasn’t lost his mind.

“Killian, why do you look like you’ve just been slapped?”

“I – I – you called me daddy. You referred to me as Sawyer’s dad.”

“Yeah,” she smiles softly as she tests the water out under her hand, “I know. That’s who you are. I’ve been practicing the word with her because I knew you wouldn’t until I said something even though we’ve had this conversation so many times. I felt like the word should be in her vocabulary. You know, for a rainy day or something.”

God, he can’t believe this. He can’t believe that this is his life. He can’t believe that he’s been granted this stroke of luck. But he has, so he walks over to them and wraps his arms around Emma’s waist, tugging her in closer and resting his chin on her shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You deserve it. I don’t thank you enough for being who you are and for helping us even when I’m an idiot. It’s…I’m trusting my gut here by doing this, by not hiding behind things that I’ve been hiding behind. Now, help me clean this mess of a munchkin off before I try to salvage some of that cake so I can eat it.”

“I like that plan.”

He’s a dad.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, picking Sawyer up off the ground and holding her to his chest while she cries into his shoulder, the screams practically piercing his ears as the door clicks into its frame. “Mummy will be back, little love. Mummy is coming back. Oh, I know, I know. I miss her too, but she’s coming back.”

It happens nearly every morning that Emma leaves for work, but he’s never quite prepared for it. And it doesn’t help that it happens twice a day when he has to go to his lectures in the afternoon. He’d lightened his class load this summer after talking to Emma about Sawyer’s scheduling, and he was happy to work a little less so he can spend more time with his daughter. He didn’t realize there would be separation anxiety tantrums every day, but he knows that it’ll go away eventually. And he knows that it only lasts a few minutes before she calms down and wants to play or to read a book.

“Ball, Dada.”

Plus, there’s that. Not long after Emma started officially referring to him as Sawyer’s dad, his little love started doing the same thing, and he will proudly admit that he had a few tears slip from his eyes. It’s a moment that happens in every dad’s life, but with the way he got here, well, he’s eternally thankful for it. He’s thankful that both Emma and Sawyer accept him into their lives in any capacity, but this is something else. As Emma has pointed out to him in her real life Elle Woods capacity, ejaculating into a cup does not a father make. He’s known that from the beginning, but hearing Emma say it made him laugh. It’s not about biology. It’s simply not. It’s about being there and showing up and loving even when all you want to do is run away and go back to the life where the only person you ever had to care for was yourself.

In all honesty, he thinks that’s the reason he gets to be Sawyer’s dad. It’s not that he’s sure they’re related biologically. That doesn’t even matter to him. He’s biologically related to his father, and he never did a damn thing for him except fill him with false hope and every abandonment issue known to man for the longest time. He gets to be her dad because he’s been there for it all, and he will be there for all that’s to come. If he’s learned anything about Emma, it’s that being there to hold her hand when she needs it is far more important than any flowery words or promises that can’t be kept but that sound good in the moment.

Being a parent is about being there, and for someone who didn’t get to have that, for two someone’s actually, he never wants to let Sawyer go a day without knowing just how much she is loved by him but also by everyone in her life.

How much she’s loved by her mother is something that he can’t even begin to attempt to articulate.

“Yeah, you want to play, Sawyer? We can play this morning.”

He spends the morning rolling a ball back and forth to her before she gets bored and decides to push around her shopping cart that’s filed with all of her things. With as many things that Emma has, it’s nothing compared to all of Sawyer’s possession. He swears that they multiply, and then multiply again, but with how quickly she moves on from one thing to the next, he’s glad for it. And since she’s pretty much taken over his apartment as well, he wonders how exactly she accumulates all of these things.

He and Emma are definitely culprits, Anna too, but he swears that Liam sends her a package at least once a week. They haven’t seen each other since Christmas six months ago, but they still talk almost daily, often Face-Timing when they can, and as of late, after Liam and Emma had a few rounds of arguing with each other over the phone, Liam video chats with Sawyer as well. To say he’s a bit smitten is an understatement. It’s kind of a testament to the fact that having a conversation and talking things out can solve a lot of awful situations.

All of the relationships in his life are a testament to that too.

Sometimes trust can’t be earned back, and sometimes it can.

If Liam betrays his trust again like he did, Killian’s not sure he’ll be able to forgive that. But he hopes he’s never in that situation.

“Alright, baby,” he sighs, getting up from the floor even as his joints groan. Thirty-five isn’t old in the grand scheme of things. Really, it’s rather young. But he’s not exactly a fan of some of the lines on his face even if Emma tells him that she likes the lines around his eyes when he smiles, and he’s not a fan of the way sometimes he gets sore after making love to Emma or playing on the floor with Sawyer. But it’s his age as of last month, and there’s not much he can do about it. “I have to go to work, so you have to get ready to go to nursery.”

“No.”

He chuckles even as he picks her up, letting her keep hold of Ollie. “Yes, my love, we have to go to nursery because daddy needs to be able pay his rent so that you have two apartments to spread out your things in.”

She’s got no idea what he’s talking about, no idea that there are bills to be paid and food to be bought, and she’s got no idea that even though he and Emma sleep in the same bed most nights, they’re not living together. His lease lasts at least another half of a year, and honestly, as financially smart as it would be for them to officially merge their lives, they’ve only been together for a short time. Well, no. they’ve been together for nearly a year if he doesn’t include their time apart and friends for even longer then that. Honestly, he doesn’t even know how long they’ve been together, and he’s kind of wondering if that even matters. Their lives are intricately complicated, and moving in together may be the very last thing on both of their minds. Emma is being absolutely buried with work right now, and most nights she comes home ready to go to bed several hours past when she should get off work. She’s a badass in everything that she does, and even without him getting to witness her in action, he knows that she’s a fantastic attorney.

A fantastic attorney who’s very much in love with and who he’s happy being with as they are, preconceived timelines be damned.

After he drops Sawyer off at her nursery, he takes the T to campus, the heat too much for his usual walk. He’s only got a few lectures to do today, but he does have office hours and a bit of grading to do, so he knows that it’s going to be a late afternoon for him too. He enjoys his job, enjoys what he gets to do every day, but some days aren’t for him. Very rarely does anyone in his summer classes want to be there, especially when they could be sailing around the harbor or at the beach somewhere, so his students don’t exactly love listening to him talk. But it is what it is, and the hours move by at a leisurely pace that he’s content to be a participant in.

“Knock knock,” Emma says out loud instead of physically knocking on the door. He’s surprised to see her, and when he looks up from his desk to see the smirk on her face, he knows that was her intention. “Surprised to see me?”

“Only in the best way.”

“Oh cheesy,” she laughs, walking into the room and over to him before she bands down to quickly slide her lips over his as she settles her ass down on his desk, her dress moving up her legs to show the muscles in her thighs that he loves. Seriously. She’s badass in all ways. “But I cannot say anything about that because I’m here to very romantically whisk you away from the office and take you somewhere secret.”

He raises a brow, his mind already filling with ideas. “Swan, I believe that you and I aren’t supposed to have secrets.”

“Yeah, well, this one isn’t exactly on par with you knowing that you’re my daughter’s father for nine months.”

“Emma, I – ”

“Hey,” she soothes, taking his hand and placing it on her thigh, the skin smooth under the roughness of his fingertips, “that was a joke. That’s not…Killian, I’m not mad at you over that anymore. You know that, right?”

“Aye, I know. I just – ” He stops his words to keep running his fingers over Emma’s skin before he leans down to press a kiss on her thigh. “Sometimes I think about it, about how unbelievably fucked up we were for awhile.”  
  
Emma’s looking at him with her eyes widened, reverence and affection filling them, and it makes the sudden uptick in his heartbeat calm a bit. “I love you something fierce, Killian Jones, and I don’t know about you, but I stopped worrying about us doing things the conventional way awhile ago. And if you would like to close up shop around here a little early, I can show you that.”

“Where’s our little lady?”

“She is with Anna, who has been practically begging to keep her for weeks now.”  
  
“Are we going to miss bedtime?”

“Yes, my love, we are going to miss bedtime, but I think it’s going to be worth it.”

“Just what are you up to, Emma Swan?”

She winks, and he can feel the corners of his lips tug up into a smile. “You’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

“Swan, where are we?”

She doesn’t say anything, her hand simply tugging on his from where their fingers are interlaced as she guides him into a building he doesn’t recognize. And she doesn’t say anything when she guides him up three flights of stairs and down the hall into apartment 306, their footsteps echoing with each step. There’s no furniture in here, just polished cherry wood floors and large bay windows that look out onto the street that they just came from. It’s only a little bigger than where he lives now, but it almost seems more open somehow. It’s likely the way the kitchen doesn’t take up most of the room or because of the lack of furniture. Really, though, he thinks it’s the windows and the seats beneath them that he’d love to read next to.

“So,” Emma asks, squeezing his hand and tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, “what do you think?”

“I like it. Why am I looking at it?”

“Okay, so long story short. Anna’s boyfriend’s brother just moved to Philadelphia, and his lease is still good for nine months, which was crappy planning on his part. Anyways, he’s subletting, and when it’s over, I’ve already checked to make sure I can get the lease.”

“You’re moving?”

Disappointment rushes through him, and his lips curl into a frown. She’s moving. Emma’s moving. Why the hell would she be moving when they’ve got the good system with each other right now? This is at least a thirty-minute walk across the city. That’s a hell of a lot different than thirty seconds.

“I was kind of thinking that _we_   could move.”

Oh.

Oh.

_Oh._

“I’m sorry, what now?”

“I was thinking,” Emma begins, tugging him a little closer and releasing his hand so she can press up on her toes and wrap her arms around his neck, her lips curled into a smile that makes his frown lessen, “that we move here. I know you’ve still got some time on your lease, but mine is up in two months. We basically live together, Killian, and even though I really enjoy the nights where I can sleep diagonally in my bed, I don’t see the point of paying two rents.”

“How romantic.”

She slaps the back of his head before curling her fingers into his hair, a shiver running down each vertebrae of his spine. “Hush. Dr. Jones – ”

“I do so like when you call me that.”

“Dr. Jones, Killian, my love, baby daddy because you ejaculated into a cup instead of into me – ”

He scrunches up his entire face, eyes shutting for a moment. “Bloody hell, Swan, what an awful way to put that. And technically we still don’t have official confirmation that I’m – ”

She pushes her lips into his with such force that it makes him stumble back, his hands grabbing onto her hips and his fingers tightening around the material of her dress as their bodies come together while their mouths move in a kiss that very literally took his words and his breath away.

“I don’t need the test,” she whispers before she fully pulls back, her lips tickling his with their featherlight touches. “We’ve already said that. We don’t…Killian, I don’t need it. Whatever would come back on that paper, it doesn’t matter to me even though I already know the answer.”

“It doesn’t matter to me either. I believe you were trying to ask me something.”

“Oh yeah, you want to move in with me and your daughter?”  
  
“Bloody hell, yes,” he murmurs before slanting his lips over hers again and backing her up to where he thinks there’s a wall. He’s not really sure as he’s barely looked at this place, but he knows that there’s a wall somewhere. He knows he’s found it when Emma gasps, or that may be the way he flicks his tongue against her lips and presses his hips into hers, feeling his much of her as he can. “You should probably show me the rest of this place first, though, so I can make sure it’s better than what we have. I only want to move in with you for your money.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I love you.”

“Yeah, whatever. I love you too. Do you think we can get away with christening the place before we even move in?”

 

* * *

 

Summer cools into autumn in the way that it always does, the miserable heat and humidity slowly fading away in a way that he doesn’t notice until he’s putting on a sweater to go to work. If anything, he’s thankful for it. His body produced enough sweat over the summer, simply from existing and carrying boxes of their possessions and actual furniture up three stories into their new apartment. It took he, Rob, Kris, and Graham to move couches and mattresses and new bedframes up the stairs in a full reenactment of the pivot scene in Friends. At least he doesn’t think he’s as much of an asshole as Ross is.

Half of his furniture is in a storage unit right now waiting to be sold, and the other half is already sold. He’s kept all of his possessions, books and trinkets and every kitchen appliance he can think of, but there was really no need for him to keep a ratty recliner when Emma had a nicer set of lounge chairs. They do keep his mattress, though. It’s larger and far more comfortable, and he’ll give up a lot for Emma, but his mattress is something that was always going to have to stay.

He’s known Emma for over two years now, even if it really feels like longer, but as they’re learning, you learn a hell of a lot more about a person when you officially live with them. To start, the storage unit their excess furniture is in also houses all of Emma’s father’s possessions. He never even thought about all of her dad’s things, and apparently Emma hadn’t either until one day he was talking about how they needed a few end tables and she casually mentioned that she basically had an entire furniture store worth of stuff, not to mention boxes full of photo albums and precious memories that she’s been too nervous to go through. So one day she had taken him down to the unit, and it had been absolutely miserable. Just…it was awful. To him, it was all things he had no attachments to, but he watched as Emma ran her fingers over dusty furniture, as she thumbed through old books, and when she got to the photo albums still stacked on a bookshelf like she couldn’t stand to actually pack them up.

_“I’m so sorry, Emma,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her close so he can run his hand up and down her back while he simply holds her as he shoulders shake. “I’m so sorry that you went through all of this alone.”_  
  
“I miss him.”

_“I know, love. I know.” He presses his lips into her hair, knowing she can’t feel it, but he needs a little comfort too as he thinks of his mum and the memories of having to put her things away. “We don’t have to go through any of this today or until you’re ready, but I think one day Sawyer might want to be able to see her grandpa or her mum when she was a wee one.”_

_He feels her nod against his chest. “Can we do it another day?”_  
  
“As you wish.”

It took three more trips to the unit before they got the end tables and the photo albums, and another ten before they left with a set of bookshelves that he’s painted white to replace the ones from his apartment that couldn’t be detached from the walls. But over the summer, an empty three-bedroom apartment began to feel like home. It was even clean for a little while, the throw pillows arranged artfully and the floor clean of everything but a checkered gray and white rug and a few house plants to lighten up the place, but then Sawyer came in like a gust of wind with her possessions that are still multiplying. Now the floor is covered in playpens and toys despite the fact the there’s an entire hallway closet artfully organized with storage bins, Emma’s penmanship written across the labels. She’s still not quite old enough for cleaning on a bigger level than “Sawyer, put the ball in the box” but they’re getting there.

Or he is.

He’s usually the one to clean up.

That’s another new thing that he’s learning even though he pretty much knew about it before. He’s much cleaner than Emma, definitely more organized, and even basically living with her for months, both consecutive and not, he was not prepared. He’s been to her office several times, and that place is like a showroom for cleanliness. Seriously, everything is in perfect order, but when Emma comes home, she kicks her shoes off wherever she pleases and leaves her jeans crumpled on the closet floor, her bra usually hanging on a bookshelf. And it’s never because they got particularly enthusiastic in the living room and undressed on the way to the bedroom. It’s because she just takes it off and leaves it there.

But she leaves it there because she’s home, at their home, and if he spends five minutes out of his day picking up one of Emma’s beige work bras or hanging a skirt so it doesn’t wrinkle, he thinks that it’s worth it.

They share a home.

With their daughter.

It is beyond anything he ever could have dreamed about or wished for or wanted. It is beyond whatever facetious novel he thought up on the day Emma threw up in his toilet and he wondered how his life could possibly get weirder.

“Daddy,” Sawyer sighs, the frustration in her voice so obvious for someone still only a year and a half old, before she falls out on the ground, her limbs sticking out in every direction.

“Yeah, Sawyer?” he hums, still grading papers at the kitchen table, a pen stuck in his mouth with his glasses falling down his nose. He’s honestly got to make an appointment with the optometrist soon.

“Juice.”

Without looking he grabs her cup off of the table and holds it up until he can hear her slowly making her way over to him. She usually moves quickly, but she’s been pretty lethargic today, which is what happens when she refuses to sleep the night before and keeps both he and Emma up when Emma’s spending her day in court and he’s working from home. She takes the cup and mumbles something resembling thank you, so he whispers back a you’re welcome before wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her up to sit in his lap while she sips away. She’s pretty smart for her age (he’s not biased or anything), knows about twenty-five or so words even if she chooses not to use them sometimes and simply points. She’s the slightest bit dramatic, but her doctor assures them that everything is normal.

“Color?” she asks, smacking her hand down on the paper he’s marking up with a green pen.

“These are daddy’s colors, but I’m going to get you your own in a minute, okay? We can draw mummy a picture because she’s having a bad day.”

She doesn’t really listen to him, taking a pen and slashing a green mark across the table, and he immediately gets up with her so he can get her the crayons and large white rolls of paper that they let her have free reign on in hope that she doesn’t start drawing on the walls. They’ve still got the paint colors just in case.

In between drawing with Sawyer and grading his papers, likely missing things for how unfocused he is, the rest of their afternoon passes. He usually only has time like this in the mornings with her, all of his classes later in the afternoon this semester, but it’s kind of nice to have all day during the week. Now if Emma were here, well, then it would be so much better. But by the time Emma gets home he’s already fed Sawyer dinner and given her a bath. Emma’s usually not this late, but sometimes it happens. Her job is busy, but he knows that she likes it that way even if she would like to be home for dinner.

“Momma,” Sawyer gasps the moment Emma walks though the door, scrambling off her seat on the couch and running toward the door, only tripping once, before Emma’s dropping her purse and swooping Sawyer up in her arms. It’s a beautiful sight, one he’d like to watch forever. There’s something indescribably stunning about watching Emma with Sawyer. She wanted to be a mum, wanted it for a long time, and she does such a bloody fantastic job at it that he often watches with awe. He’s obviously glad that he came along, that they stumbled into this life, but there’s no a doubt in his mind that Emma could do this all on her own and kick ass like she does every single day.

He’s glad that she doesn’t have to do it alone, but she could. If there’s anyone in his life who inspires him, it’s her.

In every way.

“Oh, you’re already in your jammies,” Emma sighs after rousing Sawyer up, her giggles filling the room. “Are you ready to go night night?”  
  
“No.”

“Oh really? Because mommy is so ready to go night night, and I would think that daddy is too.” She looks at him for a brief moment, a soft smile on her face as she kicks out of her heels. “Hi, babe.”

“Hey, beautiful. I am so ready to go night night, especially if it means going to bed with you.”  
  
Emma rolls her eyes at him before looking down at Sawyer and affectionately rubbing her nose into Sawyer’s. “Your daddy is trying to flirt with me, baby, but the only thing we’re going to do is go to sleep like you.”

“That is totally what I meant.”

“I don’t at all believe you,” she sighs, propping up Sawyer on her hip as she walks over to him and collapses on the couch, her head landing on his shoulder as Sawyer crawls over them. “I’m so tired.”

He snakes his arm around Emma’s waist and tugs her in a little closer before kissing her cheek. “I know, love. I can put her to bed if you want to change clothes and eat dinner.”

“No, no,” she protests even as she yawns, “I’m going to do it. Just give me a minute to rest my eyes.”

The minute to rest her eyes turns into falling asleep on the couch within five minutes, and as much as he knows Emma wants to be able to put Sawyer to bed and to read her a story, he’s sure that just one day of letting her sleep a little bit will not be the end of the world. She’s exhausted, the day and this week obviously taking a toll on her, and even if she’ll probably get irritated with him for not waking her, he’s making a judgment call here.

After Sawyer is asleep, he makes his way back out into the hallway, fully planning on heading to the living room, only to be stopped by the opened bedroom door and the trail of clothes that follow it. Emma must have woken up, and when he finds her in the bathroom, she’s got one eye bare of mascara and the other smeared everywhere as she rubs it down.

“You should have woken me up.”

“You should have stayed asleep on the couch.”

“And kill my back? No thank you.”

“Love,” he sighs, resting his hip on the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest, “you are killing yourself at work right now. You deserve to get some rest.”

“I’m supposed to put her to bed. That’s always my goal. I miss a lot, but I’m going to put her to bed. And I’m missing that because I’m falling asleep on the couch.”

“Emma – ”

“I know, I know. It’s just a bad week. I don’t know. I’m just,” she sniffs, wiping away at her makeup again before turning to the sink and splashing her face with water, “I’ve spent all day watching people argue over their kids and custody, and today didn’t even seem like it was about them doing what’s best. It seemed like they were being selfish, and the only people who were getting hurt were the kids. My goal in life is for Sawyer to never doubt how much I love her, and yet I’m missing things. What if she starts doubting that?”

“Hey, no,” he protests, walking away from the doorframe and moving to stand behind Emma so he can wrap his arms around her waist and rest his chin at her shoulder. “Don’t you dare start thinking that. Did you not see how she ran to you when you got home? She talks about you all day, and we spent half of our day drawing pictures for you. I don’t know what they are, but I can tell that she put a lot of heart into it.”

She chuckles, her body moving against his, and his emotions settle seeing hers do the same. “Life is hard.”

“Aye, I believe that it is.”

“Way to be optimistic.”

“Realistic.”

“Still.” She looks up at him through the mirror, and he tugs her a little closer. “On Saturday, I was thinking that we can take her to the park and then look for a Halloween costume. Anna said that her sister’s kids go to a party made for little ones, and I kind of thought it would be cute.”

“It would be adorable. You can have all weekend to spend time with the little lady, okay? She’ll love it. And I’m sure she’ll love whatever sweets we let her have.”

“Yeah, well, as much as I miss her, if she gets sugar in her, she’s your kid.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

 

* * *

 

He walks in the front door only to be bombarded by one hundred and twenty pounds of woman as Emma literally jumps in his arms, her hands holding onto his shoulders and onto his button down while her feet hang in the air, his senses coming back to him when Emma’s legs get a good grip on his waist. What in the world has he just come home to?

“Bloody hell, love, what are you doing?”

“I’m just really glad you’re home.”

He raises a brow at the hitch in her voice, but he doesn’t say anything as he continues to move them through the apartment until he’s sitting on the couch with Emma straddling his lap, her excitement palpable as she bounces up and down, which is getting him excited in a totally different way. He hasn’t seen her this excited since she got a pay raise in February a few months ago. They’d hired a babysitter and gone out to a far too expensive dinner and had far too much expensive wine. It had definitely been worth it.

“You want to tell me what has you vibrating out of your skin?” he questions as his hands settle at her hips and his eyes scan her face.

“I really, really do, but you have to promise that you’re not going to get mad at me.”

“I feel like I can’t do that until you tell me what exactly you’ve done.”

“That is such a Killian way to answer that.”

“Well, I am the one who answered it.”

She rolls her eyes, and he’s helpless to do anything but laugh. God, he loves her. “Okay, so as you know, your birthday is next week.”

“I was there for the birth.”

She slaps his chest, and he wonders if she has any idea how much strength she possesses in her arms. She likely does. It’s not as if she works out for nothing, but he seriously hopes she’s not lifting weights so she can slap him. That would be something else. “Okay, anyways smartass, your birthday is coming up, and I may have been working on a gift for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but it’s kind of a big thing, and I kind of…okay, I definitely need you to be on board with it. Legally, I can’t really finish this gift without you.”

“Color me intrigued.” He runs his thumbs over waist, feeling the soft skin of her stomach as he attempts to figure out what the hell she’s talking about. “Where’s our daughter, by the way?”

“Napping, which is good because this conversation is kind of about her.”

“Well God forbid the two-year-old hear us talking about her.”

“Anyways, so I’ve been thinking – ”

“Always a dangerous thing.”  
  
“You have got to shut up and let me talk.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Good. So I have been thinking about things lately, about us and our family. Killian, there is no one in the world who I trust more than you. No one. I love you a ridiculous amount, and if you’re willing, I have some paperwork waiting to be drafted for you to officially adopt Sawyer as your daughter. There’s a lot of legal stuff that I’m not going to bore you with right now, and us being unmarried makes it stupid complicated – ”

“I know you told me not to interrupt, but I can fix that.”

He smiles at the confusion on her face as he tries to contain his happiness over absolutely everything that’s happening right now. It’s like the perfect opportunity has fallen into his hands.

Or his lap really.

“You can what now?”

“Fix the being unmarried thing. I’ve got a ring hidden on the bookshelf. Been waiting for a good time to ask you, and I figure what better a time can there be to ask you when you’re giving me legal talk about officially becoming Sawyer’s dad?”

Emma’s lips are parted, her cheeks tinted red, and despite the absolute exuberance he feels right now over absolutely all of his wants coming to fruition, he can’t help the smug smile that’s forming on his lips while his fingers continue to rub at her stomach.

“Are you serious?”

“I am indeed. Liam brought me our mum’s ring when they came to visit for Christmas so I could have it fixed up, and with the bastard’s track record at telling you secrets, I’m surprised you didn’t know.”  
  
“Well, he has obviously gotten better.” She has to readjust herself on his lap before she cups his cheeks with her hands and slants her lips over his several times in quick succession, each getting deeper than the last, stirring him up and settling him down all at once. “You have to ask me.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you do now that you’ve brought it up and everything.”

“I mean, if you say so,” he sighs, mock annoyance tainting his voice even though he could not be happier than he is right now. “Emma Swan, love of my life, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

“Yeah, Killian, yeah I will.” Her kiss is slow and lingering, drawing him in as she draws it out, and he gets lost in it, lost in her, lost in them. He loves her so damn much, and he whispers the words against her lips the moment that they part before Emma speaks. “Killian Jones, love of my life, will you do me the honor of officially adopting your kid?”

“Yeah, love, yeah I will.”

 

* * *

 

Seven months later there are rings on their fingers, papers filed, and he thinks that there is nothing that could make his life any better as he sits on the floor of their bathroom with Emma sitting next to him, their toes knocking against each other while they both take deep breaths at the sight in front of them.

“I’m pregnant,” Emma whispers, the words reverberating around the room until they settle somewhere around his steadily beating heart.

“God, I hope I’m the father this time too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing and being awesome! I hope you guys enjoyed :D

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on Tumblr at [let-it-raines](https://let-it-raines.tumblr.com). Feel free to stop by and send me a message!


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